


The Monstrous Regiment of Women

by PoetHrotsvitha



Series: Bloodlines [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Sequel, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Twincest, so much angst oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetHrotsvitha/pseuds/PoetHrotsvitha
Summary: There are many things that need to be rebuilt in the aftermath of the Ripper’s terror. Jacob himself is among them, but the chaos of Whitechapel will not wait for his recovery. Violence remains endemic in the streets. The brothels persist in their corruption. The Rooks need to be reclaimed and Jack’s influence weeded out at the root. To top it off, women are gathering all over London, agitating in the first feeble gasps of a movement calling for freedom.London stops for no one.





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> MIND THE TAGS. Seriously, major sibling incest, do not stumble in unknowingly. 
> 
> This work is a sequel to [**In Trutina**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6769843).
> 
> It picks up immediately after Chapter 14 of that work. I don't think it's so complex that it couldn't be read alone, but it will make much more sense if you read the other piece first.

Days and days of empty darkness had sapped him of his strength. When he emerged, broken and bloodied, Jacob found that the world looked a much grimmer place than he had left it.

The list of things that he had failed during the Terror was long and painful, a prickling thing that lodged in the back of his skull and refused to budge: Jack, his apprentices, London, the Brotherhood, his son. There was so much that he needed to atone for, so much that was now far beyond atoning for.

The weight of that knowledge was so heavy that it paralyzed.

And yet, and yet, insistent and gentle, she pulled him along from the moment that she found him. She compelled him outwards; out of sickness, out of bed, out of his rooms, out of his own head. She even coaxed laughter from him, the sound rusty in his throat when it first happened.

And then she kissed him.

_I think I'll stay._

He wasn't sure that he deserved happiness, not when he had caused so much pain, but she didn't give him a choice. Like a long-lost swallow migrating back home, she flooded his world with song.

\---

Whitechapel was teeming with life.

Perched on grimy tiles and resting on her heels, Evie’s eyes tracked the movement on the street far below. Watching it was like trying to follow a swarm of bees, only possible if viewed as one chaotic whole.

Mostly, she looked for change.

And it was there, in superficial differences. Dresses were much curvier, suit jackets straighter. The occasional motorcar trundled through the streets, enough of a novelty that it still drew stares. The man running ahead of it waving his flag and blowing his horn inevitably looked ridiculous. Surely that would never catch on.

But on the edges of the crowd, two children fought with a dog over scraps of food. A pickpocket worked efficiently when people’s heads were turned the other way. Costermongers sang their wares and women carried heavy baskets of laundry back and forth, looking tired and broken. The smog hung thick in the air, leaving a fine and gritty residue that coated itself on everything.

Not so different, then, from what she remembered. _Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose._

Leaning back, she drew out her pocket watch and flipped it open. Nearly half an hour since she had left Jacob; she would have to return soon. Any longer and he would start to pace, antsy and irritable until she returned.

She knew that he didn’t like her leaving at all. He was vulnerable and bristling in turns, an open wound that begged for care and flinched away from it all at once. But as much as she wanted to help, she occasionally needed time alone to compose her thoughts.

Especially today.

It had taken some convincing, but she had finally persuaded Jacob that it was time to face one of the things he had been avoiding. There were some things that were important enough that his fragile sense of security would have to be pushed. That her own sense of comfort came second.

She took one last look at the street as she slipped the watch back into her pocket. Unfolding herself, she climbed up until she reached the trap door to the attic of Jacob’s building, prying it open and lowering herself back inside.

\---

He reminded himself for the twenty-third time in as many minutes that she was safe. She was just out to stretch her legs. She would return momentarily.

Taking deep breaths, Jacob tried to centre and calm himself, leaning into the stretching routine that Evie had showed him, something that she had picked up in India.

Jack was gone. Evie could take care of herself. She would be along any moment. She probably hadn't even gone far.

It was ironic, really, that while he had actually been trapped in that godforsaken cell, he had barely worried about her. Carried along by some sort of delusional confidence probably born of exhaustion and delirium, he had never questioned for a moment that Evie would find him and crush anything that got in her way.

For whatever reason, once he was out and she was a physical, tangible thing, the worry had set in. Never mind that he'd been right enough in the cell.

He tested his knees, settling into a crouch. Still sore, but better than yesterday, the daily improvement slow but steady. Moving to the floor, he stretched out and tried to touch his toes, willing his back to unclench.

Soft footsteps padded along the hallway, and Jacob recognized them as hers long before they reached his door. Relief uncoiled in his stomach, relaxing him enough that he pushed forward and his fingertips finally made contact with the edge of his boots.

“Oh, good,” she said, when she spotted him on the floor. “You’re doing your stretches.”

“Just as prescribed,” he muttered, holding the pose. “Still can’t put my leg behind my head, though.”

“To be fair, most people can’t. I’m a bit of an exception that way.”

“You just wait. I’ll put you to shame yet.”

She smiled and the relief curled into a happy, tender feeling, one that made him smile at her in return. Moving to the cabinet, she quickly pulled out the somewhat battered selection of crockery that he had for tea, picking out more than their usual two cups. “You haven’t forgotten about our visitors?”

Jacob gestured to himself, drawing attention to his tie and eyepatch. “Do I look like I’ve forgotten? Wouldn’t have bothered with this otherwise.” He’d barely been able to get out of his nightshirt at first. At Evie’s urging, he’d graduated to shirts and trousers, but the tie rarely seemed worth it.

The eyepatch, for its part, was more about not alarming others. His physician insisted that he would likely regain full vision in time, but regardless, it looked horrific: bloodshot, swollen, and filled with puss. Jacob didn’t consider himself a vain man, but he still grimaced at it whenever he looked in the mirror.  

“Twenty years and you still don’t properly know how to put on a tie,” Evie muttered, shaking her head. “Are you nervous?”

He did a few slow sit ups. “Nervous to effectively return from the dead for my only son and mother of my child after they had given up on ever seeing me on this side of the abyss?”

She paused to turn around and raise her eyebrows at him, her gaze appraising.

“No, of course not.”

Snorting, she went back to setting the table. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

The sit ups were starting to make the wound across his stomach ache, so he slumped back on the floor. “It’s been ten days since they learned that I’m alive. Like you implied when you invited them in the first place, I don't think it matters if I'm ready.”

\---

For all their years apart, Jacob had spoken very little of Anne. It meant that Evie wasn’t sure about what to expect; she had actively tried not to think about it, if she was honest with herself, with a moderate amount of success.

Whatever she had expected, it wasn't what she found.

Anne had barely made it over the threshold of the flat before she rushed at Jacob, skirts whirling, throwing her arms up and around his neck. She promptly burst into sobs, bawling into his chest as he patted her on the back.

Even with the obstructed view, Evie could see that everything about Anne was… Dainty. She was small, barely reaching Evie’s chin, and her features were delicate even when screwed up in tears. Her hair was blond and curled in ringlets, mostly piled up on the top of her head in the way that seemed to be the current fashion. 

For a moment, Evie saw herself and Anne in her mind’s eye, standing side by side. It was hard to imagine a greater contrast in two women.

When Emmett followed her in, footsteps heavy, Evie felt her chest grow tight for a moment. He was the spitting image of Jacob. Evie battled déjà vu as she looked back and forth between the crooked noses and stocky frames, the son a carbon copy of his father at fifteen.

Emmett looked faintly embarrassed at his mother, and his first words were a question. “Is the eyepatch forever?”

“Hopefully not,” Jacob said, now fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket for Anne. “It’s mostly cosmetic, at the moment.”

“How do you mean?”

“The eye doesn't exactly look attractive.”

Emmett leaned forward, interested. “Can I see?”

Anne pulled away to cluck disapprovingly at him, but Jacob just smiled. Putting a hand up to Anne’s head to keep her from seeing, he flipped the eyepatch up.

“Gross,” Emmett breathed, clearly impressed.

Ah yes, Evie thought. Definitely Jacob’s son.

\---

As soon as Jack’s spree had started, Jacob had sent Emmett and Anne out to Crawley. They were too obvious as targets, too well known to Jack and his associates. If he couldn’t watch over them himself, he could send them somewhere where they would be watched by someone else, somewhere beyond the reaches of Jack’s influence. Anne had been upset about leaving but accepted that it was for the best. Emmett had kicked and screamed the whole way, insisting that he would rather stay in London to help, but Jacob simply wouldn’t risk it.

He had already lost too much.

When Jacob had eventually regained consciousness back in his rooms, Jack apparently vanquished and London safe again, Evie had assured him that she had already been in touch with the Council. Who, in turn, had informed Anne and Emmett that he was alive. It was just so _like_ her to have thought that far that he had slipped back into sleep, relieved that things were resting in her capable hands.

He knew that they would want to visit as soon as possible. He initially flat out forbade it. The thought of Emmett seeing him as a cripple, struggling to breathe through bruised lungs and barely able to walk, was repulsive.

And if he was honest, he wasn’t ready to share Evie. It was still too wonderful and terrible and astonishing that she was _here_ , drinking his tea, mending his socks, humming as she worked at his desk. He had pushed forward in the intervening years, yes, but the distance had never stopped aching like an abscessed tooth. So when she returned, still recognizably the person that he had left in India, he wasn’t sure if he was quite ready to have those two distinct parts of his life- the _before_ and the _after_ \- tangle together.

But as Evie had pointed out, denying Anne and Emmett reassurance became cruel at some point.  

\---

It took a while for Anne to calm down against his chest, his shirt now damp from her tears. He wasn’t exactly surprised by any of this; she had a tendency towards waterworks when emotions were running high, regardless of whether they were positive or negative.

Poor Emmett looked mortified. It wasn’t something that Jacob could quite identify with, never having had a mother to be embarrassed by.

Awkwardness between a father and son, though, he knew a lot about that.

Once the tears had receded into sniffles, Jacob put a hand on one of her shoulders and gestured to Evie. “Anne, I’d like you to meet my sister, Evie.” He waved towards his son to include him in the introduction. “Emmett, your aunt.”

Evie looked uncomfortable. It was easy to imagine why, and for a moment he felt a twinge of sympathy. He remembered the disorienting sensation of seeing Evie in India, Henry’s hand on her shoulder, wedding band on her finger.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen that ring since her return.

Pulling away from him, Anne flew at Evie and grabbed her hands, holding them close to her chest. If Evie had looked uncomfortable before, she now looked alarmed.

“Thank you,” Anne said, voice tremulous. “We thought we’d lost him. The Council told us about how you saved him from that monster- thank you. Thank you for keeping us informed, for watching him, for… For everything.”

He could see Evie responding to Anne’s sincerity. That was the thing about Anne, as he had discovered so many years ago: she was simply so _genuine_ that her enthusiasm eventually wore you down. He had tried, gruff and broken at the time, to keep her at an arm’s length when they had first met. She wouldn’t have it, and that was that.

Anne stepped away and quickly gestured to Emmett. “Here, come here, don’t be shy, give your aunt a hug. We owe her your Father’s life.”

Emmett obeyed, shuffling over and extending one arm in an awkward half-embrace. “Nice to meet you,” he said quickly, eyes down. “I always liked getting the presents you sent,” he added, voice a bit shy, and Evie brightened a fraction at that.

Jacob thought she was handling this quite well, all things considered.

“Lovely to meet you both.” She awkwardly waved towards the battered table in the room, trying to smooth over the interaction. “I made tea.”

“Wonderful,” Anne said, beaming now even as she hiccoughed. “Let’s have tea.”

\---

It was easy for her to see that nights were the hardest for him.

During the day, Jacob was mostly composed, other than the occasional flickers of panic that she saw rippling under the surface. She knew that he grieved, but he also attempted to move forward, steadily putting one foot in front of the other. It was like a clumsy dance where she led, distracting him from the noise around them, keeping his focus only on what immediately came next.

At night, though, his demons came home to roost. Nightmares plagued him constantly, the mess of emotions making him toss and turn as he slept. For a while, she had tried letting him be, hoping that the nightmares would pass. She eventually learned that it was easiest to wake him and let him gradually fall back asleep.

“Jacob,” she whispered, as he moaned wordlessly against her back, his shoulders tense. “Jacob, wake up.” She twisted around and shook his shoulder, keeping her hands on his chest as he startled awake and rasped deep breaths, his heartbeat gradually slowing as he remembered where he was.

He shifted up against the pillows, stiff and awkward. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, voice thick with sleep. “Did I wake you?”

“I was already up,” she promised.

The lamps outside cast a flickering glow against the bed, letting her dimly see half of his disgruntled face as he ran his hands through his hair. “I fucking hate this.”

“I know.” She reached for his hand and threaded her fingers through his. “Give it time. You're doing so much better already; you did well today, remember?”

The visit had lasted almost an hour before she saw the dark circles deepening under Jacob’s eyes, his energy spent. She had shepherded Anne and Emmett out, promising that they could visit again soon. They were returning to Anne’s house in London, so it would be an easy thing from now on.

Jacob squeezed her hand. “Was it strange for you?”

She thought of the way her stomach dropped when Anne had embraced him. “It’s hardly fair for me to find anything strange, I should think.”

“But?”

“… Yes, a little strange.” She propped herself up as well, shifting to face him. A question had been haunting her all day, one that she really ought to have addressed much sooner. “Jacob, when I said I would stay- when- when I kissed you- I didn't pay a single thought to what your life might already be like here.” The thought made her flush with shame. “If you don't want me here, I can leave once you're healed- or if you want to be faithful, I'll get another room, I won't bother you that way again--”

He moved faster than she thought possible while still half asleep, his hands snapping to her arms and his fingers digging into her skin like iron, like he planned to physically prevent her from leaving. “No,” he rasped. “ _No_. Don’t you dare go anywhere. Don’t even think about it.”

“All right,” she said gently, a little taken aback. He wouldn’t let go of her, so she nudged herself over until she was lying against his chest, waiting for him to calm. “Won’t Anne think it a little strange if you stop…” the words were hard to form, the thought sliding against her skin like sandpaper. “Visiting her?” she settled on, the euphemism most comfortable.

“I’ve just spent a month being brutally tortured, I think I get a bit of leeway.” The humour in his voice was bitter. “I’ll face that when it comes, don’t make it your concern.”

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. “If you’re sure.”

The kiss had been so easy, so natural. They hadn’t talked about it, but they hadn’t repeated it, and she wasn’t sure what that meant. What any of this meant.

“Jacob,” she finally started hesitantly, pulling away to face him. “Do you think--”

He had fallen back asleep.

Sighing, Evie plumped the pillows around him, propping his neck up so he wouldn’t be sore the next morning. He looked much more peaceful when he slept, the frown of his concentration and frustration eased at least until the nightmares started.

Oh well, she thought, leaning back and settling in to resume her vigil. They had the luxury of time. From now on, there would always be tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Locomotive Act of 1865 required vehicles on public roads in the UK to be preceded by a man waving a little red flag and blowing a horn. It was effectively so silly that it halted the development of cars for the rest of the century. 
> 
> _Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose_ = the more things change, the more they stay the same. Originally coined by Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr in his satirical piece for Les Guêpes, published in 1849.
> 
> [ **Some sexy hair of the 1880s**](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/438819557416108175/). It's very Pearl Attaway, actually.


	2. Crawley

Evie’s knuckles were starting to crust over with blood. It wasn't her own, and it itched on her skin as it dried, flaking away in brown slivers. She would've liked to scrub it off but she wasn't sure that the pump out the back of this shack even worked. And then, of course, they'd just get dirty again anyway.

“I'm going to ask you one more time,” she said slowly, leaning down and yanking the man’s head back by his hair. “But know that my patience is running thin. Where did Jack keep his lodgings?”

He twitched backwards and spat on her face, the spittle tinged with more blood. “Go to hell, you crazy bi--”

She jabbed at his windpipe and he wheezed, coughing, doubled over in the chair. In a strange way, she had to admire the devotion that Jack had inspired in his acolytes. Most men would've broken by now.

This one would too, of course. It was just a matter of time.

“Where,” she said again, voice muted, “did he live?”

He was silent, glowering, his lips pulled back in a sneer as he rasped to breathe.

Sighing, she pulled her gauntlet back on, working her fingers into the fabric and metal. Making sure that he watched, she flicked her wrist and twisted the blade out.

She always found this part distasteful. But this man’s obstinacy was standing in between her and her objective.

\---

One hour and fourteen minutes since she had left.

She was fine. He knew she was fine. She could take care of herself. She was fine.

It still felt like his lungs wouldn’t fill all the way, the thundering of his heart loud in his chest. Jacob couldn’t remember ever feeling like this, and he hated it. He kept closing his eyes and finding himself back in that damned cell, aching and cold, disoriented and helpless.

He heard the footsteps moments before the knock on the door. Not Evie’s.

When he opened it, Emmett was on the threshold.

“Mother said I should come visit again,” he said, shifting a little from foot to foot. “Keep you company. Can I come in?”

Jacob gestured for him to go through, glancing down the hallway before he closed the door again. “I'll get my eyepatch, one moment.”

Emmett shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t think it’s as bad as you think it is.”

So Jacob made tea instead, the two of them sitting a little awkwardly at the table as it steeped.

Should he bring up what had happened with Jack? How did you reassure your son that, _yes, I was tortured but I'm improving now_ and _don't worry about it?_

Emmett was a good kid, but he felt things keenly. Jacob blamed the earnest disposition. It was something that Emmett had inherited from his Mother, and if Jacob was honest with himself, he didn’t quite understand it. All he knew was that his usual ‘joke about it or ignore it’ strategy of addressing their concerns seemed to make them both upset.

Jacob was still wrestling with the question when Emmett broke the silence. “Why didn’t you let me help?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You made me leave. I could’ve helped, you know. I’m not useless, even if Mother keeps clucking over me like I’m nine. I knew Jack too. I know I haven’t had my blooding yet, but I still could’ve helped.”

Jacob cocked his head, taking in Emmett’s mulish look, the petulant jut of his chin. Now _that_ he didn’t inherit from his Mother.

He poured the tea and decided on diplomacy as the best route. “I know you aren’t. But I needed you to keep your Mother safe.”

Emmett frowned as if he hadn’t considered this.

Jacob remembered how it felt to be desperately keen to prove yourself, unable to stand the idea of being coddled even when you probably needed it. “Jack was trying to get at anything special to me, and that put your Mother in the line of fire. I couldn’t trust anyone else to do the job right.”

Emmett was now staring into his tea suspiciously, like he suspected that he was being placated.

If there was anything else that Jacob remembered from being that age, it was that distraction was the sure-fire fallback. He stood and clapped Emmett on the shoulder. “I’ll get the cards. Let’s see if your old man can still whip you at whist.”

\---

It turned out that Jack lived in the attic of a crowded boarding house in Shoreditch, the building stuffed beyond capacity with families of ten and men too drunk or ill to work. The door was locked, but that had never stood in Evie’s way before.

The room itself was cluttered, papers and cloth scattered everywhere. She bent down to pick up a few of the papers, and they seemed to mostly be drafts of letters or newspaper clippings about the Ripper’s crimes. The bed was just a straw mattress on the floor.

She circled around to the dresser, the only substantial piece of furniture in the room, rifling through the drawers and tossing their contents on the floor. Three drawers in, she found a thick leather notebook with “Evie” written on the cover.

Why would Jack have something with her name on it? Opening it, she immediately recognized Jacob’s handwriting, pages and pages thick with his dense scrawl.

To anyone else, it probably would have taken a bit of time to decipher Jacob’s scribbles. But Evie had almost two decades of practice.

 

_November, 1869: Rooks found Templar notes about potential chalice relic in Wales, rumoured to have power- PoE?_

_December, 1869: Rumours traced back to author in Lancashire. Sent Rook to investigate._

_December, 1869: Author total crackpot but lists monk as source. Sent Rook to investigate._

_January, 1870: Monk says chalice has been lost in caves in Cumbria, map may be in monastery in the area. Have organized two Rooks and provided funds for search._

 

And so it continued, page upon page as she thumbed through it, twenty years worth of search for Pieces of Eden that she knew he cared nothing about. She closed the book and looked at her name. He didn’t care about them. But he knew _she_ did.

For so many years, whenever she had seen something that he would have been interested in- a new fighting technique, a modified weapon- she would feel the urge to share it with him. It was strange to see evidence that he had experienced the same thing.

Throat tight, she set the book aside and resumed her search. And finally, in the lowest drawer and underneath a false panel bottom, she found what she was looking for.

Elegant wrought metal, leather straps and sturdy fabric concealing a deadly blade, a twin of the weapon that sat on her own arm: Jacob’s gauntlet.

\---

Two hours and twenty-seven minutes since she had left, Jacob heard Evie’s footsteps at the door.

When she came in, she looked like a cat that swallowed the canary. When he saw what was in her hand, he knew why.

“Found it,” she said triumphantly, setting his gauntlet on the table between him and Emmett.

Putting his cards down, Jacob took the gauntlet in his hands, turning it over slowly. It didn’t look like it had seen a scrap of damage other than what it incurred during his fight with Jack. “I assumed he’d thrown it in the Thames.”

“You assumed wrong,” she said, shrugging her coat off and smiling at Emmett. “Hello again.”

“Hello,” Emmett returned, trying to subtly swap out his cards with better ones on the table while he thought Jacob was distracted. A real chip off the old block, his son.  

Evie rolled up her sleeves. “Would you mind going to fetch some water from the pump in the courtyard? I’ve been getting a bit behind on the washing up.”

Emmett nodded and ambled over to the bucket in the corner, heading outside with it in his arms.

She turned to Jacob once they were alone. “I also found this,” she said, reaching into the inner pocket of her draped coat, pulling out a notebook and sliding it towards him.

“Ah.” He recognized the binding. “Yes. That.”

She tapped her fingers on it. “Why didn’t you tell me? That you were searching for artifacts?”

He shrugged, a bit embarrassed. He wasn’t sure that he wanted her to know how much he had hoped to find something, given its potential for drawing her back to England. Or, at least, that had been his motivation to begin with; eventually, when he had come to accept her absence, some of his recruits had been fascinated and provided the continued thrust for the search. Jack was among them. Given that, he supposed it made sense that Jack had taken the book.

“Jacob?” she prodded.

“Never found anything,” he finally said. “Not much sense in telling you that I didn’t find anything.”

She snorted, apparently willing to set the topic aside as Emmett returned. Accepting the water from him, she poured it into the tin basin Jacob kept for washing; as she started to wipe down dishes, Emmett immediately went to her side, accepting things to dry. Looking at Evie’s surprised smile, Jacob nodded in satisfaction. Anne was raising him right.

He turned his attention to his gauntlet, fetching his polish and brush. There was a little bit of rust beginning to form, and blood was still crusted on the blade. Nothing that he couldn’t put back to rights with a bit of care.

“So,” he heard Emmett say, “you were living in India, right?”

“That’s right.”

“With your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Is he Indian?”

“He is, yes.”

“Uncle Henry.”

“Quite right.”

Jacob worked into the crevices of his gauntlet as Emmett warmed to his theme, Evie calmly answering his rapid-fire questions.

“Did you have other Assassins there?”

“A whole community, yes.”

“With apprentices like me?”

“Quite a few.”

“Was it just apprentices and Assassins?”

“No, there were whole families, lots of children and elders. It was a big community.”

“Oh. Do you have a family? I mean, other than Uncle Henry?”

Jacob stilled at that, tilting his head a little to listen for her answer.

“No, we don't have any children.” Was that a trace of regret?

“I have sisters and a brother,” Emmett volunteered, stacking the dishes with less care than they probably needed. “Adelie and Viola, they’re a lot older than me. Hugh too. I guess they’re technically my half siblings, from my Mother.”

“I see.” He could hear her smile.  

“Oh, and then there’s Cecily. Father says I can’t forget about her even if I never met her because she’s still my sister. She died when she was small.”

Jacob’s gaze snapped up just in time to see the plate slip from Evie’s hands, the seconds slowing before it shattered against the floor with an almighty crash. Evie immediately dropped her head, covering her reaction by reaching for the broom and dustpan. “Emmett, hold still, be careful not to step in the glass.”

Emmett was still blithely talking, completely unaware of the effect of his words. “Don’t worry, my boots have thick soles, Mother breaks things all the time when they’re not even wet. So I’m used to it. And--”

“Emmett,” Jacob interrupted, sensing a need to intervene. “Isn’t it almost time that you got back to your Mother for supper?”

Evie was rapidly sweeping up the glass, movements controlled and efficient. “Supper, yes, that’s true.” She set the dustpan side. “We’ll need something too, I'll go for it now. I’ll be back shortly.”

And with that, she was gone, coat snatched up and out the door without even pausing to say goodbye.

The room was quiet for a moment. Emmett seemed to finally sense that something was amiss.

Jacob sighed. “Go on, then. Thank you for coming to visit, and for helping.” When Emmett drew a little closer, Jacob reached out to ruffle his hair, ignoring the way that Emmett groaned in protest. “Come back any time.”

After the door had clicked shut, Jacob heaved a deep sigh and stood to clean up the rest of the glass.

\---

Standing in line for pea soup and hot eels, Evie rubbed her arms, trying to ease the hair that was standing up all along her arms.

It was like someone had walked over her grave. No one other than Henry had known about Cecily in India, and he had respected her wish to not hear her name spoken aloud.

For years, she had wondered if eventually the grief of it would fade. And it had, in some ways. Enough that it rarely bothered her now without some sort of reminder. But when the reminders came they were aching and sharp, shards of metal that wormed under her skin and burned from within, the pain a gnawing thing until her lips and knuckles grew white from the effort of clenching them still.

And as if it wasn't enough to mourn for her child, it always twined with the recollection of her fear of leaving England, the disorienting blindness of not having Jacob nearby, the horrible and drawn out childbirth that had come far too early. The constant questioning of her decision and the desperation that went with the feeling of having no other choice.

She closed her eyes and saw delicate little fingers in her mind’s eye, tiny toes that were perfect in how they were formed, the faintest fuzz of dark hair on the top of her head--

“Evie Frye?”

The tone was shocked, the voice somehow familiar.

When Evie craned around, she saw a wiry woman with a high forehead and dark hair, wrapped up tightly to ward off the cold, now frantically waving to catch her attention.

“Do you remember me?” She darted forward, ignoring disgruntled customers who thought she was attempting to cut in line and reaching for Evie’s hands. “It’s Clara- Clara O’Dea.”

“Clara? You look-”

“- A little different from when I was eleven?” She laughed. “Yes, I suppose I do. But I would recognize you anywhere.”

“It’s-” Evie took her in, the determined gaze and worn clothes. It had been so long that she wasn't even sure where to begin. Surely she wasn’t still running the children’s gangs? “- how have you been?”

Clara rubbed her gloved hands together. “I don’t have time to talk at the moment- though I’d love to know why you’re back in England- where are you staying? I’ll come visit soon. I think you might actually be able to provide the help that I’ve been looking for these past few months.”

\---

When Evie returned, Jacob was still sitting at the table, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface. He immediately stood and reached towards her, taking the paper bag of their supper and setting it aside, pulling her in for a hug. “I’m sorry for that shock.”

He smelled good, that peculiar mix of gunpowder and grass and Jacob. “It was just a surprise, that’s all. I didn’t expect him to know.”

He tensed a little. “It’s a part of my history as well. I should be able to share it.”

Evie heard the hint of defensiveness in his tone and bit the inside of her cheek. “I know. You can. I was just… I was surprised.”

He softened again, drawing back and putting a hand to her cheek. She met Jacob’s gaze, concerned and gentle even through the battered eye, and held her breath.

When he leaned in to kiss her, she melted into it, twining her arms around his neck.

Oh, but she'd missed him. Missed _this_. After half a lifetime away, Evie thought she would have forgotten, but her body remembered; remembered how she fit against him seamlessly, two halves meeting for a perfect whole.

Nothing had ever matched it.

She parted her lips and he immediately followed, tongue swiping against hers, hands snaking up to the base of her neck and tangling in her hair. How could just a kiss make her legs turn to jelly? His stubble was scraping across her skin and she found that she liked the feeling, the roughness of it a contrast with the softness of his lips. If his kiss had been gentle before, it was possessive now, his grip hard and demanding.

His stomach suddenly grumbled loudly. They pulled apart and both looked down for a moment before breaking into giggles, the sound somehow matching even if his laughter was an octave lower than hers.

“Right,” she said a little breathlessly, patting him on the chest as he grinned at her. “Supper. Hope you’re in the mood for eels.”

\---

The train rocked onwards to Crawley. Jacob had his eyepatch on and his gauntlet back on his hand, a comfortable extension of his arm, a talisman of things gradually improving. Every time the panic would start to grow about being in the open once more, he would twist his wrist and feel the leather stretch in a familiar way over his fingers, reminding himself that he couldn’t stay in the flat forever.

He also had his cane, a less comfortable reminder of the changes life had recently wrought.

Jacob hadn’t particularly wanted to bring the cane. It was embarrassing to have to show such obvious weakness for the reunion with his apprentices, but his ankle was still damned sore, and he objectively knew it was ridiculous to risk injury for his pride. Evie, when consulted, had no sympathy whatsoever. She insisted that _she_ would take the cane along and whack him with it intermittently it if he wouldn’t carry it himself.

Which was hard to argue with.

She was sitting across from him now, wrapped up in a coat more of the style that she used to favour. He slouched, crowding her legroom, mostly because her irritated frown was still deeply satisfying in a way that he couldn't explain. “Just like old times, isn't it?”

“Rather.” She kicked his shins aside. Ah yes, now _that_ brought back memories. “Speaking of which, whatever happened to Agnes?”

“Last I heard, she took Bertha up north and they've made a lucrative business of giving highland tours to posh Southerners.”

Evie considered this. “Not what I expected, but good for her.”

For a while, they watched the countryside roll by, offering their tickets when the conductor marched through. Jacob had almost drifted off when she jostled him again to get his attention. “Did I tell you that I ran into Clara?”

“No.” He hadn't seen her in years, basically since de facto leadership of the street children had passed to someone else. “She must've been thrilled- she really never warmed to me the way she did to you.”

“She said she wanted my help with something but wouldn't say what.” Evie looked thoughtful. “I wonder.”

\---

The Council headquarters looked much like Evie remembered, other than a new lick of paint on some of the inside rooms. They were met at the door by a man with grey hair and a curling moustache who immediately stuck his hand out to Evie.

“William Lister. We’ve corresponded, of course.”

Jacob looked back and forth between them in surprise. “You have?”

She cleared her throat. This was something that she’d never discussed with him, something that she probably ought to have explained, but it had fallen by the wayside in the face of more important matters over the past few weeks.

Unfortunately, Lister didn’t read her discomfort. Or perhaps he did and didn’t care. “Mrs. Mir here practically buried us in letters,” he said, voice jovial even if his eyes were a bit hard. “Every time that we so much as implied that you needed more oversight, Jacob, we would get another one threatening to involve Arbaaz Mir and the Indian brotherhood and the importance of maintaining cordial international relations if we tried.”

It was true; she hadn’t been above some blackmail and coercion if it kept Jacob doing the work that he was doing in London. She’d known it was important, even from the other side of the world.

 “Right,” Jacob said slowly, his gaze flickering back and forth. “Well… Er, these pleasantries are fabulous as always, Billy old boy, but I’m here to see my recruits.”

Lister vaguely gestured up the stairs. “First door on the left. And Jacob?” When Jacob paused at the doorway, Lister shot him a curt nod. “We’re all glad you're alive.”

She followed Jacob as he left the room and climbed the stairs, noting his shoulders becoming stiffer and stiffer as he got closer to his apprentices. He hesitated for a moment outside before finally pressing ahead, leaving the door open for her to follow.

Six apprentices were standing in the room.

All of them jerked to attention when Jacob walked in, and there was a moment of silence as they stared, obviously taking in the eyepatch and cane.

“I like it,” one of them suddenly said, a young man with a thatch of curly brown hair.

Jacob looked confused. “Sorry?”

“The eyepatch. You look like a pirate.”

Jacob coughed, the sound almost a laugh, and stuck out an arm towards Evie. “Everyone, my sister, Evie.” He rotated his hand around the room as he listed off names. “Lottie, Jane, Alfred, Walter, Oliver, Roy.”

It was impossible to remember them all at once, but Evie knew that would come with time. So instead she just offered a nod to each in turn.

“We've heard so much about you,” one of the young women said. “Is it true that you took Jack down all by yourself?”

“It is,” Evie said, seeing the spray of blood and the twitching body for a moment in her mind’s eye.

“How?” This time from the man that appeared oldest- other than, of course, her and Jacob. “How did you manage it?”

With an unspeakable sound and fury born from seeing Jacob's crippled body. “I surprised and overpowered him.”

“But Jack was the strongest of all of us,” he insisted. “He was like a beast when he was angry.”

They were now looking at her with something very akin to awe. Evie was used to this; it often happened when she met new recruits, no matter their age. It would pass, she knew, as they got to know her better.

Jacob cleared his throat addressed the room. “As you know, Jack is dead. He did his best to break me, but he did not succeed.” He leaned a little on his cane, shoulders still tense. “We have a lot of work to do. The Rooks are still out of control, and I haven’t been able to go out and find out exactly how the cards fell after Jack’s death. Some of Jack’s acolytes are still running around. It’s time. I need you to come back to London.”

They all nodded. Most of them were looking at Jacob, but Evie noted that one young man in the corner- tall and thin, with short cropped red hair- was glowering at the floor, his body language resentful at best, furious at worst.

“We owe it to the girls,” Jacob said, his voice gruff.

The room fell into an unhappy silence and Evie watched as redhead’s scowl deepened, his fists curling tightly. She recognized the look of a man on the edge of violence, and she didn’t like the way it seemed to be directed at Jacob. She didn’t like it at all.  

“Right,” Jacob continued, clearing his throat. “I expect you all back by Thursday. We meet on Friday at my flat, noon. I expect you all to organize your own lodging, as before. Jane…” he hesitated, looking at the youngest recruit in the room, a little blonde slip of a thing.

“I’ll take her,” the other woman volunteered. “She’ll live with me.”

Jacob nodded. “Thank you, Lottie. I’ll see you all on Friday.”

And just as fast, he was leaving the room, nearly bumping into Evie on his way out.

She followed him down the stairs but stopped him when they were in the foyer. “Jacob,” she started in an undertone, “that redheaded boy--”

“Oliver,” Jacob supplied. “Yes, I know. It’s to be expected. He and Constance were engaged to be married. She was one of the girls that I sent after Jack,” he clarified, shoulders sagging at the memory.

“Ah.”

“I want to get out of this place,” he muttered, so Evie followed him back out into the weak winter sunshine, towards the train station, away from the ghosts of Crawley and back to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know things are getting a little out of hand when you find yourself googling things like whether the word “kid” was in common usage in the Victorian era (it was established in informal usage by 1840, apparently. THE MORE YOU KNOW).
> 
> Jacob’s flat in the game didn’t have a kitchen, and this wasn’t just a graphics shortcut (I mean- it might have also been that, but it wasn’t incorrect). Space was at such a premium that it was fairly common for lower class lodgings- such as those in Whitechapel- to not have any facilities for fixing food. Because of this, [ street food ](http://vichist.blogspot.co.uk/2010/04/fast-food-generation.html) was a [ roaring business ](http://www.historyextra.com/qa/what-%E2%80%98fast-food%E2%80%99-was-there-victorian-england). Think McDonalds is gross? Imagine jellied eels!


	3. Changes

_Evie didn’t recognize the room, but it was warm and pleasant. She was in an overstuffed arm chair and had a well-thumbed book in her hands, obviously loved even if she couldn’t say what it was about._

_“Mother?”_

_A young woman pattered into the room, slender and lovely with long dark hair._

_“Cecily,” Evie heard herself answer, closing her book with a smile. She drew the girl closer and held her face, searching it eagerly. Freckles. A straight nose. Hazel eyes._

_Cecily beamed. “I wondered where you were- I have something to show you,” she said, pulling Evie out of her chair and along by the hand._  

_They walked down long hallways that seemed to go on forever until they turned a corner and Jacob was there, standing at a window, his back to them both._

_“Father,” Cecily called out, immediately letting go of Evie’s hand to skip over to him._

_Her heart stuttered when he turned and identical smiles beamed out at her, framed by sunlight, Cecily’s laughter light and free._

_Jacob took Cecily’s hand. “I'm not your Father.”_

_Evie felt the smile slide off her face._

_Jacob pointed to Evie. “She wouldn't let me be.”_

“Evie?”

_Cecily’s heartbroken face made Evie stumble forward. “No, please, I wanted to- I'm sorry--”_

_“How could you, Mother,” Cecily whispered, her body beginning to shake, a terrible red bloom beginning to grow at her chest. “You killed me.”_

“Evie!”

_“No,” Evie cried out, Cecily falling and writhing on the ground as Jacob just watched, impassive, his stare cold and hard and the distance between them too far, too far for her to cover--_

And then she was awake, Jacob shaking her briskly, his voice calm and soothing. “Hey, hey, you were dreaming. Everything is safe. Deep breaths.”

She was heaving out shuddering sobs, her hands shaking as she curled into Jacob’s chest, clinging to the front of his nightshirt. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, encasing her with his body and his warmth.

“Deep breaths,” he said again, stroking her hair. He waited until the shaking had mostly stopped, whispering soothing noises into her ear, his tone worried. “You were calling out Cecily’s name.”

“Nothing new,” she said, scrubbing at her face. This was all rather embarrassing; she was meant to be supporting him, not the other way around.

She could see his alarm even in the dim light. “Does this happen a lot?”

Evie closed her eyes at the thought of those countless sleepless nights. “Not as often as it used to.”

He was quiet at that. He _understood_ , she thought in a rush, feeling that sensation for the first time. It was like handing a portion of that burden to someone else, her shoulders now that much lighter for it.

Jacob traced her face lightly with his fingers. “I think about her too.”

“She was beautiful,” Evie whispered. 

“I'm sure she was. Just like her Mother.”

She let out a wet snort.

“It's true,” he insisted, pulling her close to pepper her face with kisses until she was laughing and squirming, batting him away.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she muttered, shifting back under the covers and pulling him down with her. She settled against his shoulder, waiting for the tightness in her chest to recede so that sleep could finally reclaim her.

\---

When he thought about it later, Jacob would realize that he had never seen her cry about leaving. Obviously distraught but always composed, she hadn’t let him see a single tear.

He wondered why.

_\---_

His recruits gathered as commanded when the time came, crowding into the small space of his flat. Evie had decided to stay, perched in one of the wobbly wooden chairs, observing the proceedings.

Jacob clasped his hands together. “Right, so. Tell me what you’ve learned.”

Alfred started, stepping in first as he always did. He put his hands behind his broad back, squaring his shoulders like a soldier. “I took back our warehouse by the Thames. It was still being patrolled by a couple of turned Rooks, but I took care of ‘em easily. I think most of Jack’s followers of any quality are already dead.”

No one needed reminding about who was responsible for that. Evie just shifted slightly, drumming her fingers against her knee.

“Excellent,” Jacob said, “then we can resume training there.”

Alfred nodded. “I'll set it up.”

Roy was next, pushing his spectacles up his nose as he examined his notes. “I have regained our access to the accounts that Jack took. He made a lot of money, though I shudder to think how. I think the best course of action is to try and put some of that money back into Whitechapel. I propose that it be spent on repairing some pumps; the lines in Cox’s Square to get water can be up to an hour.”

Jacob accepted the plans that Roy held out to him, giving them a cursory look. “Agreed.”

Roy flipped a few pages in his notes. “Our income is completely out of control, but I’m working on it. Ruth-” his voice became tight on her name, “-left excellent records, so I should have a better idea soon. Let me get back to you.”

Lottie stepped up, her voice clear, letting Roy regain his composure. “The brothels are still being terrorized. I'm only starting to follow the chain of command to whoever is actually in charge- it'll take some time, but I'll keep at it.”

Jacob nodded again. “Good call.” He looked around the room: at Emmett, Jane and Walter, too young to have assigned duties, and at Oliver’s sullen glower. That would be enough to start with. “Right,” he said, clapping his hands on his knees, “we’ll resume training tomorrow. If no one has anything to add-”

“ _I_ have a question,” Oliver said, voice over-loud in the confined space.

Everyone tensed.

“I want to know,” he continued, “why the hell you're still in charge.”

The silence was telling because it was more exasperated than shocked. Jacob looked around the room, noting that no one would meet his eyes. Not the first time this had been brought up amongst them, then. “Do you have something you’d like to say to me, Oliver?”

“Just to ask-” Oliver’s voice broke on the words, “-why you sent them to die.”

Jacob closed his eyes and willed the image of the girls’ deaths, so brutally burned into his brain by Jack, to recede. “They knew the risks.”

Oliver lurched forward, as if pulled along by an invisible string. “The risk that you were only too willing to put them in--”

To everyone’s obvious surprise, it was Evie who interrupted. “I don’t think your fiancée would’ve appreciated the implication that she was foolish enough to sign up without knowing that she might die.”

It was true; Constance had begged to be put in the field, insistent that she was ready in the face of Jacob’s hesitation, that this was something worth risking her life for.

Oliver rounded on her. “You don’t know anything--”

“I know that had it not been her, an innocent would have died in her place. Do you think she would want you to wish another woman dead?”

Breathing ragged, Oliver lurched another few steps, raising his arm at her threateningly. “You--”

Jacob felt himself move before he knew what he was doing, catching Oliver by the collar and shoving him into the closest wall. Even as his muscles groaned and his ankle spasmed in pain, anger drove him forwards, giving him the strength to hold Oliver in place.

“Your quarrel is not with her,” he heard himself rumble. “As to your question- there’s only one person in this room even close to having enough training to take over from me, and that is Alfred.”

Everyone glanced over at Alfred. Human brick wall or not, he looked horrified at the suggestion.

“As he hasn’t expressed the slightest bit of interest, I suggest you keep your bloody temper in check.”

He let go of Oliver and the young man straightened, unable to meet his eyes.

“We all miss them,” Jacob added, sitting back down heavily in his chair. “You’re dismissed. See you on Monday.”

They shuffled out quietly, Emmett casting a worried glance backwards as he left.

Evie moved and held out her hand, taking Jacob’s with a firm grip. “You did the best you could. They know that.”

“I know,” he said bitterly. “It just wasn’t enough.”

\---

Clara was true to her word. She came for her visit on an early Saturday morning, when the sky was grey and the drizzle outside was relentless.

Evie joined her for a walk until they came to the Rose and Crown, taking a table in the corner. Evie insisted on paying for their drinks; from the state of Clara’s clothes, she didn’t think that her companion had much to spare.

“I hardly know where to begin,” Clara said, unwrapping her scarf and draping it onto the back of her chair. “But I’m at my wit’s end, and I remembered your, ah, unique set of skills from when you lived here. I still can’t believe I had the luck of spotting you.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Not… Exactly. Maybe. I’m not sure. That’s precisely the problem.”

Evie waited patiently while Clara gathered her thoughts.

Clara tapped her glass. “When did you arrive back in London?”

“I’ve been here almost a month.”

“Then you won’t have been here for the strike,” Clara said, thoughtful. “It’s sort of what started my concern. Last July, the women of Bryant and May- they make matches- decided that they’d had enough of 14 hour working days and having their pay docked in unfair fines. Thousands of women left the factory. It was a thing of beauty.” Her eyes took on a misty sheen as she took a swig of her beer. “I got involved because I know Annie Besant through some of my trade unionist work. She wrote a piece about their working conditions in _The Link_ ,” she clarified. “Does any of this sound familiar?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Right. Anyway, the point is, since then, some women and I have been… Meeting.” Clara smoothed the front of her dress down a bit self-consciously. “To discuss worker’s rights. And the rights of women, married and unmarried, to represent themselves. But something is off. Has been since the beginning.”

She trailed off in silence, staring into space until Evie gave her a little prompting nudge. “How so?”

“One expects opposition, of course. We are demanding rightful, radical change, and the small-minded will always resist that. But it’s more than that. I think there’s a traitor in our ranks. Little things keep going wrong- women in the group having unlikely accidents, meeting places suddenly declining our patronage, important items going missing. Which brings me to my point: I’d like you to help me find out who’s doing it.”

Evie cocked her head. “Members of… My organization generally don’t become involved in politics.”

“I know,” Clara said, “I remember. But I’m asking you as a friend. As the woman who taught me how to write. You changed the course of my life, once.”

Evie looked up at the ceiling. Surely it couldn’t hurt just to look into it.

Clara didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. When Evie gave a slow nod, Clara grabbed her hands, beaming a full smile. “Thank you. Perhaps it’s all in my head and there won’t be any need for help after all. But I’ll feel much better knowing that you’re helping.”

\---

Jacob’s mind felt clearer than it had in a while.

Enough that he was enjoying something of a normal afternoon; he read the paper, catching up on some of the news that he’d missed. Evie was across the room, doing some more sewing over an open book. His socks hadn’t been in such good condition in years.

Anne arrived at some point, bringing a basket of baked goods with her. Evie had relaxed enough that the two of them would sit and talk, mostly comparing stories about Jacob in order to laugh at him. He made a point of occasionally grumbling loudly, but otherwise didn’t stop them.

It was a strange normal, but it would do for the time being.

A short way into her visit, Anne called across the room to get his attention. “Jacob, I’ve been thinking.”

He hummed in response, not really listening.

“You’re not being fair to Evie, asking her to dote on you like this.”

He saw Evie stiffen.

“Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while? I have a proper guest room; I can tend to you. And Evie can- where has she even been sleeping?” Anne frowned at the flat, her eyes taking in the only bed like she was only just seeing it.

“Pallet,” Evie said quickly. “I keep it under the bed during the day.”

“See, a woman in our time of life deserves more than a straw mat on the ground. I don’t know how she can look so well rested.”

Evie cringed. “I don’t mind-”

“Nonsense,” Anne insisted. She was on a roll now; he recognized that look. “You can come and stay with me as well, if you’d like, or you can stay here and have some privacy.”

He sighed. “Anne-”

She rounded on him. “I know that tone; you mean to deny me. Well, you have no good reason to.”

Jacob folded his paper down to shoot her a pointed look. “I don’t want to be treated like an invalid.”

“But you _are_ an invalid.”

“Don’t mince your words, then, Jesus.”

“Don't be profane,” she said sternly. “I have a hard enough time already telling Emmett to mind his tongue, and he's trying to imitate you.” She gestured to Evie. “You called her here away from India and her husband- and don’t misunderstand me, I’m ever so glad that you did- but she didn’t sign up for nursemaid duty. I would be happy to do it.”

Evie was looking back and forth between them. “I really don’t mind, I promise.”

Jacob nodded towards Evie. “See? She says she doesn’t mind.”

Snorting, Anne shook her head. “Of course she’s going to say that. You ought to be more perceptive.”

The irony was overwhelming. “I’m not leaving here, Anne. Your staff are disapproving enough when I’m just there to stay the night, I’m sure they don’t want me moving in like they’re expected to treat me as the head of household.”

“You’re never going to let a few disapproving stares from servants keep your sister inconvenienced!”

“I won’t be goaded.”

“But Jacob-”

“No,” he said firmly. “That’s final.” He put his paper back up to signal that the conversation was over, hoping she would drop the issue.

The rest of the visit was decidedly awkward after that. Anne clucked and sighed to Evie, who was apparently sympathetic, if the way that Anne seemed to leave a bit more soothed was any indication. 

It was hardly a surprise that she wouldn’t take well to being turned down. He’d barely ever done that before; he’d never had reason to. Setting his paper aside, he looked at Evie, her fingers pressed to her lips as she frowned over a piece of writing.

Jacob’s mouth settled into a grim line. He didn't like it, but he and Anne were both going to have to get used to him turning her down from now on.  

\---

Evie was a woman of words. She’d kept a diary for as long as she could remember, and books had been her constant companion. She was used to words coming easily. And yet.

_Dear Henry_

It was a good start. Now, if only she knew what to follow it with. Evie spun the fountain pen in her hand, staring at the blank page, willing the text to magically appear.

_Dear Henry,_

_I pray this letter finds you in good health. Jacob remains very unwell in body and spirit. The Brotherhood here is weakened and greatly in need of assistance._

It should be easy enough to write, in theory. “I don’t intend to ever come back.” But still she hesitated, dithering over the words.

_I cannot yet return to Punjab._

That would have to do. At least for now.

_Please convey my fond regards to everyone._

_Yours, &c._

_Evie_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evie has NO CHILL. And also no patience for those who don’t have the courage of their convictions. 
> 
> [**The London Match Girl Strike of 1888**](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_matchgirls_strike_of_1888).
> 
> [ **Annie Besant**](http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/historic_figures/besant_annie.shtml).
> 
> Mass production of fountain pens started in the 1880s. So naturally Evie would have one. See, this fic is a WEALTH of useless but vaguely interesting information.


	4. Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for explicit sexual content. Unfortunately there isn't a super convenient demarcation for where that starts, but it'll be pretty clear- once clothes start coming off, just keep on scrolling until the next text break if you're not into that. 
> 
> PREPARE FOR FEELS, EVERYONE.

If Jacob wanted to find the remaining Rooks, he knew the Black Swan was the place to start.

The pub fell silent as he walked in. As they would; for all he knew, some of them would have assumed him dead.

“Hello lads,” Jacob called out, cracking his knuckles and trying to make eye contact with as many of them as he could. “Can anyone tell me who’s in charge these days?”

The room was silent. Even the bartender had stopped wiping glasses, looking nervously around the room.

“Jack’s gone,” Jacob continued, “don’t listen to the papers, he’s at the bottom of the Thames and he’s never coming back. So who’s sitting at the top of this shit heap?”

There was some uncomfortable throat clearing. More direct action was necessary, then.

Jacob sized up the room, picking the biggest man he could find. With no warning, he marched over and grabbed the back of the man’s head and shoved his face into the table with a vicious _crack_.

“Shit,” a few of the men sputtered, knocking their beers off of the table as they jumped up and scrabbled away. The original man tried to stand, but Jacob grabbed his neck and shoulder, keeping him pinned to the chair. “Name,” Jacob snarled, “I want a name.” 

Blood was streaming from the man’s nose. “Aloysius Russell,” he rasped. “Aloysius Russell, he lives in…” he trailed off, suddenly staring at Jacob’s stomach.

When Jacob looked down, he saw that a red bloom was growing across his shirt. His exertions must have reopened one of his wounds. Damn it. 

He pushed the man away and let out a low hiss. Evie wasn’t going to like this. 

\---

She couldn't believe his foolhardiness. When Jacob returned with blood on his shirt, Evie had nearly seen red; when he confessed that he had accidentally caused it himself, she had to resist the urge to repeatedly knock her head- or possibly his- against the nearest wall.

“I'm sorry,” he said meekly, submitting to her as she stripped him of his coat and shirt to take the bandages off.

“You should never have gone alone,” she snapped, examining the gash. It was only seeping blood gently, and much to her relief, it still seemed to be healing properly and without infection. “What if they'd attacked you?”

He shot her what he obviously hoped was a winning grin. “I would've fought them all off?”

“On your bad ankle?” He looked a bit put out at that. “Go sit on the bed.”

He obeyed, easing his boots off and perching on the cover as she followed him with some alcohol to clean the cut. “It's really not as bad as it looks,” he said. “It barely hurts.”

She gave it a firm poke and he hissed.

“Well it hurts if you do _that_ ,” he said, giving her a wounded look.

Pulling on the clean roll of bandage, she put her arms around him to pass the bundle from one hand to the other as she wound it around his torso. “If you could please stop actively trying my patience, I would appreciate it.”

“But I’m so good at it.”

Evie gave him another poke and he yelped this time, twisting away.

There was a moment’s silence. “I may have deserved that.”

“You think?” She snipped the bandage and secured it.

When she stood to put the roll of bandage back, he grabbed her hand, his expression serious. “Why didn’t you ever cry in front of me? When you left?”

That was a bit out of left field. She blinked, confused at the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“I've been wondering. You never cried about it. Or at least, not in front of me. Were you not sad?”

The suggestion was like a blow. “I- of _course_ I was sad. I cried plenty.”

“But not in front of me.”

“I had already done enough; I thought it would be cruel.”

Now he looked confused as well. He was still holding her hand, absent-mindedly tracing circles on her palm. “Cruel? Cruel how?”

“I wanted to be strong enough for the both of us. I’d made the decision, that fell to me.”

He cocked his head at her. “But you didn’t really make the decision on your own.”

That certainly wasn’t how she remembered it. “I rather think I did.”

“I think…” he trailed off a little hesitantly. “I think that if I had really tried- if I had given you any sort of workable alternative, you would have stayed. But instead I just tucked tail and ran.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking awkward. “You must have been frightened and I didn’t even think of that. I didn’t think of it until Emmett was born, actually.”

She felt like her world was tilting on its axis, strange and unfamiliar. “That… I mean, I…”

“Look,” Jacob said with a light tug, pulling her down to sit next to him. “In your dream, the other night. About Cecily. You called out that you were sorry.”

“I did?”

“What are you sorry for?”

It was hard to look him in the eye. “Well, I didn’t- I took her from you, and then, with all the travelling, I sometimes wonder if… Maybe if I hadn’t…” She trailed off, praying that her meaning was clear enough that she wouldn’t have to say it out loud: if I hadn’t left, perhaps she would have lived.

He understood. The grip on her hand became almost painfully tight. “You’re not to blame. Or if you are, we’re both to blame.”

She was suddenly blinking away water from her eyes, throat tight. It was such a strange and different way to think about what had happened. “I can't, now,” she added quietly, “I don't think.”

He frowned at her. “Can't what?”

“Have children.” It had become a gradual certainty over the years, that no matter how she and Henry tried, no family would be forthcoming.

Just punishment, perhaps, for her sins.

He shuffled backwards until he was against the wall and pulled her to his chest, encasing her with his limbs. He tucked her head into the crook of his neck, fingers stroking her hair. “I'm sorry. You can cry- if you want. You always can, now. I’m so sorry.”

She had expected that the confession would bring tears. And her throat _was_ tight, but in a strange way, saying the words aloud also made her feel lighter. “I'm sorry too,” she managed, barely a whisper. “I never should have left, I just- I didn’t see any other way.”

Huddled close, they sat and breathed together in silence, finally in sync in a way that she had missed for nearly two decades.

Leaning forward, he began to press kisses to the side of her head, soft and gentle. She leaned into them with a happy sigh, enjoying the feel of him against her back.

Talking about it felt like knitting a broken bone back together. Stronger, maybe, for its recovery.

It took her a moment to realize that his fingers had reached around her front and were now working the laces of her vest open.

She gave a wet chuckle. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I notice that I’m shirtless, didn’t think I should be the only one.” His tone was light, but his eyes were sincere. He always had been a bit idiosyncratic about showing affection, she thought, letting out a little snort that made him grin even wider.

She shifted her shoulders, letting him pull the vest off. He made quick work of the shirt underneath until she was down to her brasserie, her heart now thumping in her chest. His fingers were tracing lines on her skin as he pressed kisses to her shoulders and the ridges of her spine, coaxing shivers with each touch of his lips.

His hands had been growing more wandering at night, and she had certainly noticed. Before, he had always been so good about letting her lead; she was determined to let him set the pace this time around.

But it didn't mean that she wasn't nervous.

“Jacob,” she said, twisting around, “would you mind if we moved under the covers?”

He pulled back with a frown. “I suppose not? Why?”

Because I'm not terribly young any more, she thought, and I'm a bit worried that you won’t like the changes that you see. “A bit chilly, that's all.”

With a shrug, he rolled them both over and lifted the coverlet so she could snuggle under it. Following her, he shifted on top of her body, pressing more kisses to her chest. “I can think of some ways to warm you up,” he said, smile wicked.

Her breath hitched in her throat when he slid the brasserie off, delicately pressing his lips to one breast and then the other. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

Moving down, he reached the marks that were now on the edge of her stomach, a remnant of Cecily that was etched in her skin. “Beautiful,” he said again, leaning down to kiss each one.

She might cry after all.

He pushed back up over her head with that impossibly charming smirk. “Are you ready?”

All she could manage was a nod, pulling at his belt with his fingers and helping him push out of his trousers. He kicked them out of the covers and onto the floor before he returned the favour, supporting her hips so she could wriggle the fabric off.

She could feel his arousal now, stiff against her stomach. When his fingers slid up her thigh, she knew he would find her slick and ready; she had been ready since he had started on the buttons of her shirt.

Oh, but she'd missed him.

Tracing her fingers down his chest, past the tattoo- now a bit blurrier than she remembered- she felt where the bandages started. “Don't you dare open that wound again,” she murmured.

He chuckled, a deep and glorious sound. “I'll go slowly.”

And he did.

When he pushed into her it was familiar and new all at once, exactly what she remembered and nothing like it at all. They were older now and more experienced; less frantic, more leisurely. His thrusts were slow but deep, and she worked her legs up around his waist, pulling him in for another slow kiss.

Perfect. Just perfect.

She could feel the muscles in his back moving as he rolled his hips, bunching and smoothing with each powerful motion. There were scars carved into his skin now, some new and some old, patterns that she could feel under the pads of her fingers. She wanted to memorize them all, know them until she could see them without opening her eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered, words coming out before she had given them any thought.

He just cradled her closer, slipping his arms under her shoulders. “I love you too.”

She arched to take him deeper, gasping a little every time he pushed. It felt so right to be connected again, two halves making one whole.

With each swivel of his hips, she was at his mercy, riding the ripples of desire that unfurled in her body. She tangled her fingers in his hair and curved her head back, panting her pleasure; he dipped his head to the bend of her neck, pressing his lips against her galloping pulse.

“Evie,” he whispered, movements slipping as his thrusts became harder, fingers tensing against her skin. “Evie,” he said again, name whispered like a prayer over and over until she felt his whole body go tense, arms shaking, pressed against her and gasping as she stroked his hair, crooning in his ear, drawing him through his finish with each roll of her hips.

He slumped on top of her, lurching away obediently with a groan when she pushed at his shoulder.  

"I'm sorry,” he said, a little bleary eyed. “You didn't- I didn’t make sure that you-”

“Hush,” she interrupted. “It was perfect.”

She curled around him, wanting to spend the rest of the afternoon like this, hiding from the world and London and their responsibilities for just a little while.

“God,” he mumbled quietly, bumping his nose to her cheek, “I missed you.”  

\---

He and Evie spent the rest of the day in bed, stolen time that he guarded jealously right through to the next morning. But his work wouldn't leave him alone for long.

His first summons came from Lottie. Always a paragon of efficiency, she had tracked down leads on the individuals menacing the brothels faster than should have been possible.

Not that he was surprised.

He knew the cause was close to her heart; he’d found Lottie when she was in the middle of fighting off her pimp and her first customer, her terrified screams launching him over a garden wall to intervene. The sight that greeted him- of a young woman holding a fire poker, shaking, standing over the knocked out bodies of two grown adult men- was what made him extend an invitation for her to join the Assassins.

She was eager to follow up on her information. So eager that she refused to wait until Jacob had eaten a proper breakfast, hustling him out of the flat while Evie hid a smile.

The carriage ride was a rattling mess. The best Lottie had been able to find was a broken down Brougham, as most of their best carriages were still in the custody of the Rooks. Each jolt made Jacob’s spine ache. “I don’t know why I let you push me around like this,” he muttered, ducking to miss the branch of a tree.

“Because you don’t want bullies terrorizing the girls any more than I do,” she replied blithely. “Don’t pout so much, I brought you some coffee from the nicest coffee house in Whitechapel.”

He looked at the brown sludge she had stuffed in his hand. “The coffee houses in Whitechapel must be universally shit.”

“It might just be the coffee house that Jane and I live over.” She pulled up in front of a row of houses, squinting at the numbers. “88. That’s the address that I got from one of my informants; she had been here on… Business,” she said lightly, leaving no doubt as to the nature of said business.

“So,” Jacob said, casually dumping his coffee on the ground and setting the cup down, “in through the window or the front door?”

“You’re the boss,” she said, crossing her arms.

For what it was worth, he thought grimly. “I trust your judgement.”

She tapped her foot against the perch, looking thoughtful. “Window, I think. Just to be safe.” She glanced at his cane. “I'll come down and let you in.”

They circled around to the alleyway and he watched as she scurried up the side of the building, climbing into the third floor window. There was a thump and a crash, followed by a long silence until she opened the back door. “Only one guard,” she said. “Tried to shoot me so I knocked him out.”

“Good call.” Jacob followed her inside. “What are we looking for?”

Lottie looked thoughtful. “My girl said that payments were taken here, so I imagine there's got to be money or- I don't know, if they're organized enough, maybe some accounts or something, that might link us back to whoever the payments are going to. We can look while we wait for our friend to wake?”

They split up and worked from top to bottom, searching for hiding places and secret nooks. He had just about given up on finding anything useful when Lottie appeared in the doorway, concern writ large on her face. “These were in a desk,” she said, holding out a sheaf of papers.

Jacob took them and flipped through the sheets, seeing a jumble of letters and symbols. Some kind of code. “I suppose they might be relevant.”

“I'm fairly certain they are,” she said, handing him the envelopes clutched in her other hand.

When he turned them over, the sender was obvious. Stamped into the wax seals was a familiar symbol: the crux quadrata, a Templar cross.

\---

They drove back to the warehouse. Lottie took the reins and Jacob looked back and forth between the papers as they rattled along, hoping that the code might become obvious if he stared at the stationary for long enough.

It was probably a fledgling Templar presence, he reminded itself. He had barely been gone a month, and Jack’s forceful takeover of the Rooks had only started a few months before that. There was no reason to assume the worst.

But the back of his neck wouldn’t stop prickling.

They gave the guard they’d found to Alfred, with instructions to drag out as much information as he could. Then Jacob waited restlessly as Lottie fetched Roy; if there was anyone who could break the code quickly, it would be him.

Sure enough, Roy recognized the pattern immediately. “Without the key,” he said, “it’ll be difficult to crack. But I can probably puzzle it out without it, given enough time.”

So they waited as Roy worked, Lottie and Jacob taking turns on the targets that Alfred had dutifully set up a few days before. Jacob was pleased to find that even if his muscles wouldn’t quite do what he wanted, his aim was as fine as it had been before Jack took him. Or, at least, it was when he wasn’t wearing the eyepatch.

“Lottie,” he said at some point between throwing knives, “do you know where Oliver is?”

There was a bit of pity in her glance, but he wasn’t sure who it was for. “No. Sorry.”

They didn’t speak of him again.

Night had fallen before Roy leaned back in his chair, waving them over. “Here we go,” he said, triumph clear in every word. “First one: _payments to be collected on fourteenth_. Probably to do with the brothels? Lottie, would that make sense?”

She just shrugged. “Might be. Or might not be.”

“Good, glad we cleared that right up then. Next one: _JF alive EF in London_. That one’s straightforward, that’ll be you and your sister, boss.”

Jacob nodded grimly.

“Last one: _December sixteenth forty-one dunk street everything you need will be in cellar_.”

Lottie cocked her head. “December sixteenth is today.”

Roy twisted around to look at Jacob. “Should we go see what this is about?”

Jacob looked outside. It was late enough that the lamps had already been lit, and a heavy rain was pounding against the windowsills. “Whatever it was, it’s probably already over. But we might as well go take a look.”

\---

The shuffle of mail on the doorstep made Evie rise from her supper. On the top was a postcard: _Meeting tonight at eight o'clock, find me on the corner of Chicksand and Great Garden Street_. _Clara._

The rain was coming down hard when Evie left, heading towards the eastern end of Whitechapel. The wind was so strong that the lamps kept guttering, and people rushed past with their hats tucked low and their collars pulled up high.

It was a rough part of town, run down even for Whitechapel. As she walked by people hurrying to their homes, Evie could feel the unease that hovered in the air. The fear of the Ripper still hung like a stench over the city; as much as it made her bitter to admit it, the monster had succeeded in leaving his stamp on the borough.

The darkness meant she missed her corner. She had almost gone two blocks too far before she backtracked, finally spotting Clara hunkered down in a doorway.

“Oh, thank God,” Clara called out, her voice faint through the driving rain as Evie splashed down the street towards her. “You made it, I’d almost given up. It’s bloody miserable out here.”

They made their way to the back door of one of the houses where Clara banged out a simple rhythm. “It’s O’Dea,” she shouted. “I’ve brought a guest, let us in.”

To Clara’s obvious surprise, the door that opened was not the one that they were standing at, but the one next door. “Sorry,” a woman called out. “We put the wrong number on the circulation, we’re at forty, not forty-one. I’ve been waiting for stragglers.” As they hustled through the garden and up the steps, she waved them in. “Quickly, come inside, I can’t believe this weather.”

“Can’t you?” Clara said wryly, pulling off her scarf to wring it out. “In London?”

The woman rolled her eyes with a smile and pointed down the hall. “You’ll both want to hurry, they’re already starting.”

They walked down the hallway and edged into a cramped room. Evie estimated that there were thirty people in the space, mostly women, all seated in rows of mismatched chairs. A fire crackled against one wall, flickering in its grate. There was a stately woman standing at the front, firmly balanced on a large crate, waving her arms for emphasis as she spoke in a clear contralto that rang through the room.

“-where the few benefit from the labour of the many. Brothers and sisters, if we are to bring forward a new age, we must unite in our efforts-”

Evie and Clara slid along the back wall, not wanting to disturb those seated. Clara’s eyes were trained on the speaker. Evie was examining the crowd, already trying to plan how they might locate this potential traitor among the ranks.

“-for it is only that together, with our arms linked in solidarity, that we shall bring about suffrage for those who need it most--”

There was no warning.

The explosion ripped through the room with a deafening roar, blowing through the side wall; Evie was thrown down against the floor, her ears ringing for a moment before the world swiftly fell away into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aloysius sounds like a made up name, but it’s absolutely real and was quite popular in Victorian England. Go figure. 
> 
> A [**brougham**](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brougham_\(carriage\)) is a type of light carriage. 
> 
> I'm jumping the gun a wee bit on the brasserie- it’s technically a decade or two early. Ah well. I had Jacob practically inventing it in _IT_ , so I'm gonna roll with it.
> 
> YOU GUYS THE VICTORIAN POSTAL SYSTEM WAS SO INTENSE. Mail in London could be delivered as much as _twelve times_ a day- postcards were a popular way of communicating and you could reasonably expect a response within a few hours. Like, you could send a post card in the morning to plan a visit that afternoon. Ingenious.


	5. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for torture.

They heard the explosion when they were only a few blocks away.

Lottie immediately sped up the horses. “That answers the question of what they were planning,” she muttered, giving Jacob a dark look.

A commotion was starting, wailing and chaotic. “I'll need you both to go to the roofs,” Jacob yelled as they rattled around the corner. “I'll see what's at the site, but you'll need to go after anyone trying to flee the scene.”

They skidded to a stop in front of the obvious crater of the explosion. Lottie immediately hopped off and away, Roy out of the cabin and on her heels just moments later.

Jacob climbed down from the perch and walked towards the crowd. The actual place of the explosion appeared to have been empty, but the house next door had a wall caved in. A surprising number of people- almost all women- were within, kneeling over a few figures on the ground.

Elbowing his way through the gathering crowd, Jacob craned his neck to try and get a proper view, attempting to get close to the epicentre of the explosion. Perhaps if he could see what kind of bomb it was--

He saw it from the corner of his eye before he fully recognized what he was seeing. Dark hair, blood trailing from her forehead, closed eyes.

_No._

Time felt like it slowed as he quickened his steps, throwing aside some angry bystanders, calling out her name. A woman was kneeling over her, seemingly checking for a pulse. Evie was still, far too still.  

_No, no no no, NO—_

“Jacob?” When the woman looked up, he saw the faint traces of Clara as a girl, her face streaked with tears. “Oh my god, I don't- I don't understand what happened, one moment everything was normal and then suddenly the wall blew out--”

He dropped to his knees and frantically tore his gloves off, pressing his fingers to her neck.

_Th-thump._

The pulse was there but it was far too weak. He picked her up with some effort, cradling her, and quickly worked his way back out to the road. His mind was almost blind with panic; if there were any Templar agents still around, he had to get her to safety.

The Brougham wouldn’t do. Too broken down; she might get hurt. He spotted a flat cart and worked towards it, limping a little, desperation driving him forward.

The driver of the cart said something angry and confused when Jacob carefully deposited her in the back, pulling off his coat to drape it over her and keep off the worst of the rain. Barely listening, Jacob grabbed the driver and yanked him off the perch, climbing up into the empty space.

He pulled a bag of coins from his pocket and tossed it to the man, now on the ground and yelling. There would be enough in there for a new cart and three horses if the man wanted. He’d originally had it on hand for bribes, but this was more important.

Casting one more backwards glance at Evie, he set the horse to a brisk trot, sending up a quick and desperate prayer that she would pull through.

\---

She had vague sensations of waking and falling back asleep. There was chaos, a lot of noise at first. Screaming. Her ears wouldn't stop ringing, but everything felt very far away, almost as though she was underwater.

Then there were strong arms and rain on her skin. A rattling, which hurt. Jacob’s worried face.

When she finally properly awoke, she was in a room that she didn't recognize. She was tucked under a warm comforter and the room had a cheery aspect, with bright wallpaper. She was in her own nightdress, she realized, her hair in a braid.

She tried to sit up, but her head immediately started to ring. Coughing, she tried her voice. “Hello?”

The door opened and Jacob jogged in, sleeves rolled up around his elbows and a worried look on his face. “You're awake-”, he set a half-eaten sandwich down on the bedside table, “-thank god, I only left for a minute, I've been worried sick.”

Evie closed her eyes and tried to think past the throbbing in her temple. “There was… an explosion.” Her eyes flew open. “Clara. Is Clara safe-”

“She’s all right,” he reassured her, perching on the side of the bed. “Just some scrapes and bruises.”

She settled back with a sigh of relief. “How long was I out?”

“You came and went for a while there, but it's been almost 14 hours. You lost a lot of blood.”

14 hours. A long time. “What happened?”

His expression turned grim. “Templars. We found the message of instruction but didn't know what it was for. And I didn't know you were there.” His voice got tight. “When I saw you on the ground, I thought-….” He swallowed. “I thought--”

“I'll be fine,” she said softly, taking his hand and squeezing it. “What does the public think?”

He squeezed her hand back. “They’re blaming the Fenians. It matches their usual pattern, which was probably on purpose. We have a lead or two, but I haven’t followed up on them- been too worried about you.” She saw now that he looked exhausted, dark rings around his eyes like he hadn’t slept in some time.

She looked up at the room again, noting the windows and soft curtains. “Where are we?”

He shook himself a little and then beamed at her, the smile a bit forced. “Our new flat. Couldn't take you back to the old place, Anne would never let me hear the end of it if she thought I put a concussed woman on a pallet. Or that I slept on the floor myself. And I thought we probably needed a bit more room anyway- you mentioned how you've missed being able to make food.”

Evie shifted a little straighter. “Can you afford this?”

“I've been putting money away for years, don't pay it any mind.” He leaned forward and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “It has two bedrooms,” he said slowly, “so that should keep the chattering masses at bay.”

She cocked her head a little against the pillows. “Are we planning to use both?”

“Unless we’re switching back and forth between them, not particularly- not if I have anything to say about it. Would you like some food?”

The truth was that she mostly wanted to sleep, the dull ache almost overpowering her. “I'll rest a little more, I think.”

“Good,” he said, standing and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Don't overexert yourself.”

\---

She was alive. She was fine. Or- she would be fine. She was alive.

The physician had been fairly confident that she would pull through, but it hadn't stopped Jacob from worrying. He spent a horrible evening pacing back and forth, unable to sleep for fear that she would pass in the night.

He felt a vague sense of déjà vu, but only was able to put his finger on it when he realized he was acting exactly as Evie had when she had first retrieved him from Jack.

He had been in much worse condition. It made him feel a twinge of sympathy.

Carrying her up to the new flat, he had attracted a few stares, but he didn't pay it any mind. He waited until the physician was gone to strip her of her bloodied things, ignoring the doctor’s pointed suggestion that he might be best served by hiring a nurse. He had pulled the pins from her hair- she hated sleeping in them, he knew- and clumsily wrapped her hair into a braid.

It was like dressing a corpse. The thought made his blood run cold. 

The relief when she woke was immeasurable. The stranglehold on his heart finally eased when she smiled.

Which meant that he could turn his attention to other things.

When he got back to their warehouse, Alfred was standing at the door. “His name’s Henley. I've roughed him up a bit," he muttered grimly. “But he's not talking.”

Jacob nodded and pressed on, to a back room where a now fairly battered man was tied to a chair.

The guard at the house hadn't seemed that important when he and Lottie first encountered him. Now he was the only thing immediately connecting them to information on the bomb that had Evie lying in bed.

“Henley,” Jacob said heartily, shutting the door and locking it with a click, pulling up a chair across from him. “I have some questions for you.”

“You're Jacob Frye,” Henley rasped. “You really are alive.”

“Very much alive,” Jacob agreed. “And very, _very_ angry.”

Henley eyed him warily.

“You see,” Jacob continued, “you remember my sister? Evie Frye? She got caught in that blast your lot organized.”

For a moment, there was a flicker of genuine surprise on Henley’s face. So that really had been a terrible stroke of bad luck, then, not planned.

Jacob stood and made a show of wandering to the table where Alfred had set out all sorts of tools. “She's pulled through,” he said conversationally.

“Pity,” Henley spat.

Jacob saw red for the briefest of moments. Calm. He had to stay calm. “The thing is,” he continued, “she's very important to me. Which is why I recommend that you go ahead and tell me all you know, and I'll make your end swift and practically pleasant.”

Henley sneered, the effect a bit marred by his bruised and bleeding face. “The other one, the big one, already tried that. I have nothing to say, so you'll just have to kill me.”  

“He didn't have the right sort of motivation,” Jacob said, picking up a pair of pincers and giving them an experimental squeeze. “I need you to understand something, Henley, and you're going to want to listen closely.”

“I don't know what sort of weird intimidation bullshit this is-”

Jacob talked over him. “Evie’s not just a sister to me.”

There was a moment’s silence. “What?”

Gripping the pincers so tightly that the metal dug painfully into his palms, Jacob slowly walked back to the man. “Sister, yes, but beloved, too.”

“What?”

“Call it what you’d like. Sweetheart. Lover. Mother of my child.”

" _What??_ "

"I really don't know how much clearer I can be." 

“Oh my God,” Henley rasped, starting to look panicked. “you're completely serious, you- you _sick fuck_ \--”

“There is no one in the world more important to me. No one.”

Henley’s gaze was skittering everywhere, his throat working as he swallowed. “What- why are you telling me this-”

“Because I need you to understand,” Jacob said, shoving Henley’s head back and forcing his eye open, hovering the opened pincers a hair’s breadth away from it, “that when this _sick fuck_ says that he’ll fillet you until you are a gibbering wreck, a shadow of yourself, barely recognizable as human being- not only do I mean it, I will spend the whole time thinking of my beautiful Evie and the moment I thought she was taken from me-“ he pressed the pincer against the soft flesh of Henley’s eye- “and _I will enjoy myself._ ”

A sour smell filled the room. The man had pissed himself. He looked terrified now, shaking like a leaf. “You're crazy, you're actually fucking crazy, you're wrong in the head-”

“Start talking, Henley!” Jacob barked, pressing the pincer down harder until the man let out a hoarse scream.

“I don't know anything! I swear to God, the dynamite was just supposed to be for those crazy bints and I only know that because I was there when the message arrived, I swear, I'm only supposed to collect payments from the whores-”

“NOT GOOD ENOUGH,” Jacob roared, whipping his arm upwards, ready to make good on his threat.

“Please!” Henley shrieked, “I don't even know her name!”

Her? “Whose name?”

“The new Grand Master,” he blubbered, words tripping over themselves. “I'm not high up enough to go to the meetings, even my contacts I only know by code names.”

Jacob gave him an appraising look, still holding the pincers above his head.  

“My next drop point is on January 5th,” he continued, talking at top speed. “I was going to get a message from the barman at the White Stag in Shoreditch, code word “harlequin”, that was the last of the instructions I got please please please I don't know anything else-”

Jacob stepped back and put a hand to his face. Either this man was an _incredible_ liar or they really just had stumbled upon some bottom-feeder. So much for learning anything of real value.

With a sigh, he twisted out his blade. In one swift and fluid motion, he quickly buried it in the man’s throat before Henley could even make a sound of surprise. There was a second’s burbling and then he was still.

When Jacob walked back out into the warehouse, Alfred looked up attentively. “Learn anything?”

“The new Templar leader’s a woman. Send someone to keep an eye on the White Stag in Shoreditch, it’s being used as a place for sending messages.” Jacob shrugged his coat back on. “Otherwise, no. Good fucking riddance.”

\---

That turned out to be the last lead that they would have for a while. Roy and Lottie had been unable to locate anyone suspicious from the scene, and the dynamite was traced back to an unsolved robbery.

There was obviously work to be done, but Jacob was unwilling to leave Evie’s side for long. He couldn’t focus when he was worried about her having a turn for the worse while he was gone. And besides, some of his own wounds were still aching; it was too bloody cold and wet outside, the fire and the warm blankets too tempting. The Rooks and Aloysius Russell could wait. The bloody Templars could wait. _London_ could wait. At least for another week.

On Christmas morning, when she padded out of their room and back with two cups of tea, he shot her a grimace. “I didn't get you a gift.”

Somehow graceful even with a fading bruise along half of her face, she settled into her side of the bed. “I didn't get you anything either.”

“Well, I assumed, you haven't left bed. I have no excuse.”

“We’re both invalids,” she said crisply. “Two months ago I thought I’d lost you. Frankly, you're alive, and it was a near thing. That's enough of a gift for me.”

He scoffed. “Are you sure? You wouldn't have even wanted a box of chocolates to go with me?”

She settled back against the pillows with a sigh. “You can get me the chocolates later.”

“Whoa, whoa, I'm not making any promises.”

She shot him a long look that he couldn't help but grin at. Sighing, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “What a battered pair we make.”

“Two peas in a pod,” he agreed, accepting the cup of tea that she held out towards him. “Anne will be coming over later and bringing Emmett. She had some sort of elaborate plan about a Christmas ham and games.”

Evie looked uncomfortable. “I might stay in my room for that.”

“You can do as you like.” He looked at her, worried at the crease on her forehead. “If you want, I could tell them not to come--”

“No,” she immediately said. “They’re your family, it’s important.”

“You’re my family too.”

“They should come to visit, Jacob. It’s fine.”

\---

Evie felt stronger every day. Her neck barely ached now, and the persistent headaches had mostly eased.

She hated being in bed. Surely a couple more days and she would be able to insist to Jacob that she could join the investigation. Every time she had tried so far, he had lectured her about looking after herself- the irony of which was hard to ignore.

Resigned nonetheless, she stayed put in the flat and did a lot of reading. There were piles of written intelligence from the novices and their sources, material that she could use to become familiar with the current state of London.

She was most of the way through one of Lottie’s reports about the brothels when two sets of footsteps stomped through the front door.

Even from the next room, she could hear Jacob’s snap loud and clear. “What in the _hell_ was that all about?”

Emmett’s retort was defensive. “Get off my back--”

“That is not how Frye men woo a woman!”

Evie almost felt her ears physically perk up.

From the flustered tone of Emmett’s response, she could picture him clearly in her mind’s eye, tomato-red at the accusation. “What are you talking about? I’m not ‘wooing’ her--”

“That’s for damn sure! Pulling on her braids? Are you twelve?”

“I’m fifteen,” came the resentful answer.

“Old enough to know better, that’s what you are. Look, I’m old, not a fossil, and I understand that it can be confusing when you like someone-”

“I don’t!”

“-but you’re going about this absolutely the wrong way and I’m not going to stand by and watch you make a bloody fool of yourself.”

There was a noise that was either Emmett stomping his foot or hitting something. Knowing them both, it could be either. “I’m not making a fool of myself--”

“Flowers, not pinches!”

“I’m not getting her flowers!”

“You do realize that if you don’t apologize, Jane isn’t going to speak to you for a good several weeks. Possibly more.”

When Emmett’s reply finally came, it was so quiet that Evie had to strain to hear it. “…What kind of flowers?”

“Shit, I don’t know, I met your Mother when I was on the run from some coppers and crawled in through her window like a criminal, I’m not exactly an expert.” There was a pause. “Ask your Mother. Or Aunt Evie, she used to know a lot about flower languages.”

There was another silence.

“Fine,” Emmett finally muttered.

When their footsteps headed towards her, Evie hurriedly picked her report back up. Without something to hide behind, she wasn’t sure that she would be able to keep them from seeing her smile.

\---

It had been a satisfying day. Jacob was fairly certain that his wounds were now almost healed, even his ankle no longer giving him as much trouble. Training was much easier now. His eye had gotten to the point where he probably wouldn’t need to bother with the eyepatch for much longer, which was a relief; it was seriously messing about with his depth perception.

When he returned to the flat, he went to go find Evie. He didn’t want to bother her, but he still wanted that little reassurance that she was still there, that she was well.

He found her sitting at the kitchen table. She was holding a piece of paper in her hands, colour drained from her face.

Something was wrong.

He closed the space between them as quickly as he could, reaching for her. “What’s happened?”

In lieu of a response, she silently held the card out to him.

 

**POST OFFICE TELEGRAPHS.**

**The enclosed was received,**

**Dated** 4 January, 1889

**To be delivered to:**

Evie Green, ~~14b Back Church Lane, Whitechapel, London,~~ FORWARDING ADDRESS: 18 Bruton Street, Mayfair, London

**Message:**

Read your letter with concern am coming to London. H.

 

\---

She didn't know what to think. Her stomach had dropped below the floor when she first read the words, taking a few times before she could properly understand them and what they meant.

It was too late to prevent him; she wouldn't even know where to send the letter telling him to turn back. Or what reason she could give for asking him to do so.

Jacob just looked grim. “I'll figure out somewhere for him to stay when he arrives. Maybe with one of the novices. Not here.”

Evie rubbed her forehead with her fingers, trying to ward off the dull headache starting behind her eyes. “He hasn't done anything wrong.”

“I know,” he said, flicking the card into the bin. There was a firm set to his mouth. It would’ve been a rare thing when they were young, but she was coming to recognize it now more and more. “I don't care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [**Fenians**](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fenian_dynamite_campaign) were Irish terrorists. In the 1880s they had a spree of bombing public places with dynamite.


	6. Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to skip the sexual content, keep scrolling from the beginning until the second text break. 
> 
> There is a disturbing flashback/dream sequence in this chapter. Jack was a sick and twisted murderer. If you have a weak stomach, just assume he's a bastard and scroll past the italic text.

Evie opened her eyes to weak morning sunshine.

Today was the day. She was recovered enough to be useful again, no matter what Jacob might think. She was sure of it.

More importantly, today was the scheduled meeting with Russell. As much as Jacob kept insisting that he would go alone, she had absolutely no intention of letting that happen.

He was currently wrapped around her, nose to the back of her neck, arms tight around her waist. When she wriggled away, he flopped over, rasping a loud snore.

He still sleeps like the same way he always did, she thought fondly, giving the haphazard hair a rustle. Limbs spread wide and mouth hanging open.

Although… She lifted the blanket slightly and felt the twitch of a smile. Sleeping nude again. That was new.

She allowed herself a moment to admire him. Even with the still-healing scars that laced across his body, it was undeniable that his toned body inspired a long-dormant lust in her. She traced a finger down his chest and smiled as she thought of the young man, impetuous and brash, whose body used to make her go weak at the knees.

It turned out that this older counterpart could do that as well.

She scooted down the bed and let her finger trace lower, pressing a kiss to the flat of his stomach. He was half-hard already, she saw, which made her lips quirk in a smile.

It had been a very, _very_ long time since she had done this. Time to see if her body remembered how.

\---

Well, this was a nice way to wake up.

Jacob rubbed sleep out of his eyes and peered down, trying to decide if he was still dreaming. The sight of Evie, feathering light kisses and touches along his rapidly-hardening cock was enough to make him wonder.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile.

Not dreaming. “Good morning,” he croaked back. “Did I do something good?”

She was tracing her fingers along his length now, making it a bit difficult to focus. “You told me once that all good Assassins prepared for a gang war with a tumble. I think this meeting with Russell is close enough.”

“Did I say that?” He was a _genius_.

She lowered her head again and he groaned as she wrapped her lips around him by way of an answer. It was so fucking hot and wet, and it had been so long since he’d enjoyed this, and he couldn’t help but buck his hips a little when she tightened her cheeks and sucked.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like. Anne had always seemed a bit too- well, _ladylike_ to ask, and he’d given up on casual encounters once things became serious with her.

Evie was pushing him deeper, making little humming noises that reverberated through him and nearly made his eyes roll back in his head. Damn, she was incredible.

Scrabbling at her hair, he lightly tugged upwards until she raised her head, and he beckoned her closer. “A tumble, you said?”

She nodded as she moved up over him, straddling him until he could cup her behind. He’d noticed her initial shyness and been pleased to watch it slowly disappear. She was still as beautiful as he ever could have hoped. His Evie.

Tugging the hem of her nightgown up, he shot her a grin. “Well then, my dear, a tumble you shall have.”

\---

A little over an hour later, he was almost out the door before he saw Evie pulling on her coat behind him. “Hang on, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

Her fingers worked deftly on her buttons. “Of course I am. You’re not doing this alone, and I know you’re feeling too protective of your novices to take them.”

“You’re not well enough.”

She put a hand on his chest and gave him a slow smile. “If I was well enough for… Other things, I’m well enough for this. Besides, I just intend to tail him from the meeting so we know where he’s based.”

Jacob closed his eyes to try and wave away the image of _other things_. “And if I say you can’t?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

He sighed. “I don’t like it.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

There wasn’t a lot that he could say to that. So, together, they set out from the flat towards the appointed pub. Once they were a block out she peeled away, and he watched as she quickly climbed up to the roofs far above.

He walked through the Rose and Crown, pushing past revellers and men drunk too early in the day, and went up the stairs. It was quieter on this floor, the sounds of music and shouting muffled by the thick carpet. Steeling himself, he went down the corridor until he reached 107.

When he opened the old door, Russell was already within, flanked by three guards.

He was a man with hard eyes and a carefully groomed moustache. He was much better dressed than Jacob expected, with a sharp tailored suit and a small red pocket square that looked like a splash of blood on his chest. Jacob didn’t look down to Russell’s shoes, keeping his gaze firmly trained on the other man’s face, but he had no doubt that they shined enough to reflect his face.

“Russell,” he said, walking to the middle of the room.

“Frye,” Russell returned, clasping his arms behind his back. “Tell me, why have you called this little tête-à-tête?”

“I hear you’re the man in charge of the Rooks nowadays.”

He shifted. “I might be.”

“I intend to have them back.”

Russell’s guards reached for their weapons but he waved them down. “And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?”

Jacob gave his biggest smile, all teeth and no humour. “By asking nicely?”

Russell chuckled. “And if that doesn’t work?”

“By force.”

There was a moment of tense quiet. “Things have changed in the months you were gone, Frye. Getting rid of me won’t give you the Rooks; I’ll just be replaced by another. You don’t have their loyalty any more.”

“Then I’ll win it back.”

“I don’t know how easy that will be. You’ve been a bit of a disappointment. I hear you’re down a few men.”

Jacob briefly considered just killing Russell where he stood. There was a chance that the guards would injure him, but given enough time, he had no doubt that he could take down all four of the men in front of him.

But Russell had a point. Just killing him wouldn’t get the Rooks back. It would either result in another leader or in an all out scramble; Jacob didn’t need that. He needed a smooth transition. A coup d'état. That was going to take more time, more effort. More planning.

Not exactly his forte.

But then again, he wasn’t alone any more.

Russell seemed to take Jacob’s silence as a declaration of defeat. “I think this meeting is over,” he said, nodding to his guards. As he moved towards the door, he shot a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t think that I didn’t find your attempt admirable.” His smirk was insufferable. “If you ever want some work, you should come and find me.”

\---

Perched on a rooftop, Evie watched as Russell left the pub and climbed into a carriage. She had been able to get a proper view of his face by spying through the window of his meeting with Jacob; Russell was older than she had expected, with flecks of silver in his hair.

By her guess, the meeting had not gone well. Jacob had looked furious.

As Russell’s carriage set off, Evie let her grappling hook loose, relishing the breeze in her hair and the thrill of the oncoming chase.

\---

She was fine.

Jacob paced back and forth in the flat, waiting for Evie’s return. He knew it could be hours, but he couldn’t focus on anything else.

He had thought that these strange moods had mostly eased. But he couldn’t breathe again, his heart pounding over-loud in his ears. It was like someone was sitting on his chest, preventing him from filling his lungs properly. It would seem that his relief had only come from being assured of her safety.

She was fine. She was fine. She was fine.

The door opened and he whipped around, but it was only Lottie. Her eyes widened at his expression. “Boss, are you well?”

“Fine,” he muttered, returning to his pacing. “Do you need something?”

“I followed up on that lead about the White Stag. The message was just for another location- the fighting pit on Long Way. Apparently the next pick up was for this evening from a man with a blue coat and a red flower on his lapel.”

He rubbed his face. “Thank you, Lottie, I’ll follow that up.”

She nodded and disappeared.

The hours crawled by like molasses. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky when Evie finally walked in, looking pleased with herself.

The moment she stepped through the door, he strode over and crushed her in a hug. She yelped and then slowly twined her arms around him, patting him on the back. “Is everything all right?”

“It is now,” he said, stepping back to give her a quick kiss. “So you found it?”

“They led me on a merry chase, but yes. It’s a relatively nice place on the Strand- it doesn’t look heavily guarded from the outside, but I lingered for a few hours to get an idea about the occupants, and there are a _lot_ of armed men coming and going.” She collapsed into a chair. “I estimate at least thirty. What was said at the meet itself?”

“Not a lot and nothing of value,” he said, pulling his boots on. “I’ll have to tell you about it later, need to go find a contact at the pit on Long.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said, hopping up with a smile. She must have genuinely despised being in the house for so long. For a moment, he hated how much better he had felt for it.

\---

The pit was as chaotic as usual. The crowd was roaring as grappling men lunged at each other in a ring at the centre of the room. Jacob hadn’t been by for a while- fighting for fun was something that he had given up almost a decade ago, and he didn’t enjoy it much as a spectator sport.

Topping, when Jacob spotted him, somehow still looked the same age as always. Evie seemed remarkably unsurprised by this, but then he remembered that she would have interacted with Topping already. Something about taking down some of Jack’s men while she had been hunting for him.

Jacob wished he could have seen that.

He spotted their quarry fairly quickly; the man was leaning against a table towards the back, beer in hand, watching the fight. Jacob gently touched Evie’s elbow to get her attention. “Look, that’s the bloke. I’ll pull him aside and you keep a look out- we’ll take him back to the hideout, I want to know what he…”

Evie wasn’t paying attention. Her gaze was trained on the chalk board announcing the betting odds for all of the fighters, brow tightly furrowed.

“What are you--” he followed her gaze and saw what she was staring at. It was right at the top of the board.

_Emmett Frye- Odds: 15/1_

Jacob hissed a breath through his teeth. He felt Evie’s eyes snap towards him. “Did you not know?”

“No.” He could feel a headache starting to build. What was the kid playing at? He was far too young for this still, and if Anne found out- she would be terrified. She was already worried enough after he had insisted that Emmett would only be facing training for a few more years. How long had he been sneaking out to fight?  

“Jacob?” He was staring into space, he realized, and he looked back at Evie’s worried frown.

“Let’s just get the informant for now. I’ll just… I’ll fucking deal with _that_ -,” he stabbed his finger up in the direction of his son’s name, “-later.”

\---

_Jack was standing over him._

_“She felt so good under my knife”_

_He had heard it so many times, but it never got any easier, never became less horrifying. He wanted to move his hands over his ears but he was too weak to even shift, too sore and tired to do anything but listen._

_“Do you remember how much she was afraid of the dark when she was little? Sweet Hattie, couldn’t sleep without a lamp nearby? But you sent her out into the dark, dressed like a tart.”_

_Jacob shook his head, trying to clear the waterlogged feeling in his brain._

_“She was so beautiful as she bled. So deep, so red, from all across her stomach. I let her move away because women like being chased, don’t they? So I let her run. Or, try to run.”_

_He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to know-_

_“I gave her a lovely kiss as she died, and you know, I think it was her first? I held her beating heart in my hand as she screamed and I think it sped up when I kissed her. What do you think, Jacob, do you think she liked me?”_

_Sick, sick, sick, he was sick-_

_“She liked you, I know. She loved you. We all knew. Did you? She was so lonely, so sad, so beautiful and you wouldn’t see her anything other than little old Hattie.”_

_He was so ashamed of Hattie’s death, he never should have risked her like that, but Jack would only come out of the shadows for women-_

_“How many nights do you think she spent in that small bunk, wishing you would join her? What a pretty body wasted. She was so hungry for you. Don’t worry- when I kissed her, I told her to imagine that it was you.”_

_Shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP-_

_“Oh, and I brought you a little souvenir.” Jack reached into a bag that he had been holding and pulled out a lump of something shrivelled and misshapen. With a flick of his wrist, it landed next to Jacob with a squelch. “I’m told that women use this to grow children. I think she would’ve wanted you to have hers, don’t you?”_

_He had nothing left to vomit, but it didn’t matter as his stomach heaved, over and over, Jack’s laughter ringing in his ears._

\---

She was starting to be able to predict which of Jacob’s nightmares would grow worse. Jack’s name was always mixed in with his other incoherent ramblings, and he would start to toss and turn.

The moment his body became rigid, she would intervene, trying to shake him awake.

When he did open his eyes, she would grip his shoulders tightly and wait for him to recognize her. Those were a tense few moments. She knew that she always had to be on the alert for him potentially lashing out at her; she had seen it before with the recruits in India.

“Evie,” he said, voice still thick with sleep.

“It’s me,” she assured him, putting a hand to his cheek.

He rasped deep breaths and pulled his knees up to his chest, bending in on himself. Folding with him, she ran a hand up and down along his back, trying to coax him back into the present moment.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“Don’t be,” she immediately replied. “Do you want to talk about it?”

There was a long silence. “I don’t want to burden you with it.”

She sighed and twisted towards him, raising his chin so he would meet her eyes. “There were recruits who endured torture, back in India. They would return broken and frightened, but I watched them become whole again.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“But before they could, Jacob, they had to share their experiences. It was miraculous, really, to watch the way that just _talking about it_ could help. It was like purging poison.” She took his hand with a firm grip. “I want to share your burdens.”

He rubbed his face and leaned backwards against the headboard. She could feel his pulse gradually slowing in his wrist, his breaths becoming more even.

She waited. A horse clopped along the road outside. Somewhere, there was laughter, late-night drinkers staggering home after closing hour.

“Are you sure,” he finally said, “that you don’t mind?”

“Never,” she said immediately. He was gripping her hand like a lifeline, and she wanted nothing else. “Never.”

Taking in a shuddery breath, he nodded. Nestling back against the pillows, she pulled him into her arms and held tightly as he hesitantly, finally, began to speak.

I’ll help you, she thought, as he recounted the horrors of his cell in Lambeth. I will not let Jack have any more power over you.

We will survive this. Together.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't certain how odds worked in betting, so I'll assume that there are others who wouldn't know. "15/1" means that for every pound a person bets (or more likely a shilling or a penny, given that pound was a LOT of money), they will win 15 pounds/shillings/pennies if Emmett comes out on top. It also means the bookie has estimated that he has a less than 5% chance of winning. Not good odds. 
> 
> Jack the Ripper had a habit of making off with his victim's body parts. Several of them were found with their uterus removed.


	7. Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is another flashback with Jack in this chapter. Again, in all italics if you wish to avoid.

Jacob rapped on the heavy door, stepping back expectantly. After a moment, it swung open, revealing a highly starched and polished butler.

“Mr. Frye,” he said gravely, with just the right amount of sneering contempt.

Oily bastard. “Seymour,” Jacob returned. “Is Emmett in?”

Seymour gestured inwards and Jacob stepped into the hall, hooking his thumbs in his pockets and watching the butler’s retreating form. He normally tried to avoid coming during the day precisely because he hated dealing with Anne’s staff. While there was no love lost between the household and Anne’s perpetually-absent husband, they viewed Jacob as the corrupter of their lovely mistress; they weren't wrong, but that didn't mean he had to put up with it.  

“Jacob!” Anne came bustling down the hall. Of course Seymour would go to her first. “What a lovely surprise.”

She leaned in for a kiss, which he turned to press to her cheek. He saw the flash of confusion and hurt, but chose to ignore it. “Is Emmett upstairs?”

“He is,” she agreed. Her expression darkened. “He’s done something, hasn’t he?”

Yes. “No, don’t worry yourself.”

“Will you tell me what it is?”

No. “Really, it’s nothing. I’m just here to get him for another meeting.”

“Right,” she said, clearly disbelieving. “Perhaps I’ll see you tonight?”

“I’ll likely be busy,” he said, giving her a pat on the arm before he went up the stairs.

The enforced distance wasn’t getting any less awkward and uncomfortable, but he was determined to stick to it. The thought of Evie giving Greenie even one more kiss swamped his mind with blind rage; he could hardly ask for fidelity and not offer the same. He’d waited too long to just have _her_.

It was a consuming thing. He knew it was twisting his better judgement, but he didn't care. There had been too many years of bitter longing to not cling tightly and refuse to let go, no matter the cost.

When he opened Emmett’s door, Emmett was squinting at a darts board, practicing his throws. A few of the darts were stuck in the bullseye. He had good reflexes. Jacob felt a flash of pride before he remembered why he was there in the first place.

“Father,” Emmett said, sounding surprised. “I thought the meeting wasn’t for another hour?”

“It isn’t. But I went to the pit on Long last night.”

The guilt was plastered all over his face. The boy was a terrible liar- he always had been. “Yeah?”

“What in the hell are you thinking?”

Emmett twisted and went back to throwing darts. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Are you trying to give your mother a conniption?”

He saw Emmett’s eye twitch. “She doesn’t know.”

“And what’s to stop me from telling her?”

The look had now turned mulish. Jacob vaguely wished he didn’t recognize it so well. “You’re never even around lately, so why would you?”

Jacob closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Look, your mother deserves better than finding out about this when you’re brought home on a stretcher.”

“I don’t lose!”

“Yes, but what _if_ \--”

Emmett suddenly rounded on him. “I know you think I’m useless but I’m not- and if you’re not going to give me any real jobs, then I’m going to find other ways to train. I’m bloody _good_ at this. You and Mother have to stop coddling me.” Emmett marched to the window and yanked it open, throwing a leg over. “I’ll make my own way to the meeting!”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Jacob staring at an empty room. He resisted the urge to give a solid kick to the wall- he could only imagine how the servants would talk if he put a boot through the expensive wallpaper.

\---

Evie walked briskly along the lane, dodging vendors and children, enjoying the ability to stretch her legs again. When she checked her pocket watch, she saw that there was still half an hour to the meeting. Enough time to tidy up a bit in the flat.

As she reached their door, her senses alerted her to someone already inside. Someone that was not Jacob. Perhaps one of the novices had arrived early?

She slid the door open slowly in any case, hand on her knives. No sign of anyone. There was a rustle from her bedroom- the one that generally stayed unoccupied.

Now pulling her gun, she crept forward noiselessly. In a smooth movement, she threw the door open and pointed her pistol.

She first saw the shock of red hair, then the lanky frame. The novice that had been so belligerent. It took her a moment to remember his name- Oliver. “What are you doing in here?”

He raised his hands, face curiously blank. “Got confused about where the meeting was and climbed in the wrong window, sorry.”

“Right.” She lowered her gun. “Well, it’s not in my bedroom.”

“Sorry.” He shot her a bit of a sheepish grin. “Didn’t mean to intrude on your space.”

She holstered her gun and stood aside as he walked into the main room, taking a seat. All of his previous blatant aggression was gone, but she found that her senses were still screaming for her to be wary.

“So,” he started, slumping in a seat and smiling again. “You and the Boss first came to London twenty years ago, right?”

“That’s right,” she said, sitting across from him.

“What were you hoping to do?”

“Eliminate Templar control, of course. The goal since time immemorial.”

“Of course,” he agreed, a little bit too quickly. There was a pause. “You were looking for an artifact as well, right?”

“One which the Templars were trying to harness for power.”

“What could it do?”

This was all a very specific line of questioning, and she had a fairly certain idea of where it was going. “It couldn’t bring people back from the dead, Oliver.”

One of his eyes twitched a little. “No, of course not.”

There was a creak of the door and Jacob stomped in, looking more irritated than anything. “My damned idiot of a son has deci- oh. Oliver. You’re back.”

“I am.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about disappearing.”

“No, it’s…” There was an awkward pause. “Don’t worry about it. We all grieve differently.”

“Yes,” Oliver said quietly. “We do.”

\---

Emmett took most of the hour to make his way slowly to Mayfair, stewing in anger. He even stopped to chuck some rocks at crows, though he was careful not to actually hit them too hard.

It wasn’t fair. It was terrible luck that Father had gone to the pit when he did. Emmett had only even been in two fights so far. He was just so _sick_ of being treated like such a child. With Mother, it was one thing. She a woman and she wasn’t an Assassin, of course she wouldn’t understand. But Father should know better.  

He eventually slipped in the front window of Father and Aunt Evie’s new flat, hearing the sound of Lottie talking full-flow. “The brothels have stopped making payments without any real repercussions. I think the Templars are aware that we’re taking steps…” The meeting must have already started.

Opening the door quietly, he edged around the corner of the room, determined to not look at Father. He grabbed a chair and pulled it up alongside Jane, who shot him a quick and tight-lipped smile. She was probably still upset about the hair-pulling.  

Jane. Her hair was twined tightly in a knot today, which was disappointing. It was the same colour as some of Mother’s more expensive necklaces, a burnished gold that shone when the sun hit it at the right angle. It was beautiful when she had it in loose braids or partly down. He hadn’t meant to pull it so hard- it was just that he’d reached out to touch it without thinking, and when she started to turn and frown at him, he’d panicked.

When he sat this close to her, he swore that he could smell something softly floral. It was intoxicating. How could a person smell so good?

Alfred was talking now, something about a Templar that Father had found last night. “He’s not saying anything, of course. I haven’t done anything yet, other than leave him to stew. Would you like me to start?”

“Yes,” Father’s reply was immediate. “Focus on the new Templar chain of command.”

Walter stood next, talking about the Rooks. He’d been speaking to lots of lower and middle-ranking gang members, confirming that there was a lot of dissent about the new leadership. Many apparently wanted Father to return, but didn’t feel confident enough to say so openly.

Emmett’s attention wandered off after that. With a sinking stomach, he watched how Jane had trained her full attention on Walter, giving him a big smile that telegraphed admiration.

He could do useful things too. If only Father would give him a chance.

Father thanked Walter and gathered his thoughts. “Right. Evie has found the location of Russell’s home-base. We need to keep an eye on him, gather information. Walter--”

Emmett jerked to his feet. “I can do it.”

He knew even before Father opened his mouth that it was going to be a no, from the grim way his brow furrowed. Yet another opportunity lost-

But then he saw Aunt Evie give Father’s chair the slightest kick.

Father closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. “All right, Emmett. Learn the location from Evie. And absolutely _no contact_. Under any circumstances. This is just surveillance. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said eagerly.

“Dismissed,” Father snapped, waving his hand.

Emmett went to put his chair back, excitement coursing through him as the other novices stood and made their way to leave. Jane stopped him with a touch to his arm; when he turned, to his delight, she was giving him a real smile. “Well done, Emmett.”

He felt like he was floating the whole way home.

\---

The station was crowded.

She felt relatively calm, but Jacob wouldn't stop fidgeting. She had suggested that he stay home, but he wouldn't hear it.

He turned to her. “He's not staying with you, remember. Even if he complains.”

“Of course.” Alfred had agreed to take Henry. Unlike the other novices who lived in boarding houses and cramped flats, Alfred kept an actual house with his wife and two little girls- meaning he had a spare bedroom.

Jacob cleared his throat awkwardly. “I know I haven’t- I know I can’t- but just so you know, I would really rather if you didn’t…” he trailed off, seemingly unable to even conjure up the words.

“I know, Jacob. I know.”

Another train pulled in and they watched as people disembarked, rushing off towards the exits or into the arms of loved ones. As the crowd thinned, she saw a familiar face carrying a case and looking around.

Tamping down her nerves, Evie gave a quick wave.

He smiled when he saw her. Jacob, on the other hand, grew even more tense. This was going to be _so_ uncomfortable.

Once he was in earshot, Henry called out. “There you are! For a moment I thought you had forgotten.” Ever a polite and private man, he merely reached out and gave her hand a squeeze when he drew close.

She dropped it as quickly as she could. “I’m glad to see you arrived safely.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. Henry’s eyes moved to Jacob, and there was a moment of awkwardness as he took in the open hostility. “Hello again, Jacob.”

“Greenie,” he grunted.

Evie grimaced internally and started to move them both along. “We have a carriage waiting. Let’s get you settled in, shall we?”

Once they were in the Hansom, with Jacob sullenly beside her and Henry across, she broached the topic of where he would be staying. “One of the novices here has a spare room. I think you’ll be very comfortable there.”

He looked confused. “Is that where you are?”

“No,” she said gently. “I’ve been at Jacob’s flat.”

The confused look intensified. She recognized that look from years and years with him. He had questions, but he was unwilling to pursue them in public.

If she was honest with herself, she was counting on that sense of reserve to carry them through this. It was cowardly, she knew, to not face this outright, but it was also simpler. She did intend to directly tell him, at some point, that she wouldn’t be returning; she just wasn’t quite sure of how she planned to get there.

For a man with whom she had spent almost half of her life entwined, it was remarkably easy to imagine severing their bonds completely.

“I’m still up quite a lot in the night,” she settled on. “Jacob has some nightmares.” She looked towards Jacob, but he just narrowed his eyes. Did he really have to be so vastly unhelpful? “There’s no reason for you to not sleep as well, for the time being. I think this is a better arrangement.”

There was a pause. “I see,” Henry finally said. “I hope I can be of some assistance now that I am here.”

“I have no doubt that you will be.”

The rest of the carriage ride passed as she updated him on the situation of the collapsed Rooks and the emerging Templar presence. Henry looked thoughtful. Jacob looked grim.  

When they arrived at Alfred’s, the presence of two whirling little girls diffused a bit of the tension as they hopped around and asked Henry lots of questions about why he looked so different from everyone else. Alfred’s obvious embarrassment only made it more charming.

Still, it was with relief that she climbed back into the carriage with Jacob.

He insisted on kissing her senseless for the whole ride home.

\---

_“Ruth took a long time to die.”_

_He can’t remember how long he’s been here, how many times they’ve had this conversation. It feels like he’s been here forever, a lifetime’s worth of listening to Jack._

_“She pleaded with me, did you know? Begged me to see sense. As if there was ever any sense in any of this, in the lives that you and your creed took from us.”_

_Ruth was so strong. She’d had such promise._

_“I offered her a choice. To join me. She chose to die instead.”_

_It was wrong for her to die. So wrong. She’d been so full of life that it shouldn’t have been possible for her to die._

_“And little Connie. Do you think Oliver will ever forgive you? She was in such pain. It wasn’t even all me- she fell, did you know? Some of her bones cracked and sliced through her leg. Do you think Oliver saw that? Did he even see her corpse? She died in terrible, exquisite pain.”_

_Connie didn’t deserve this; Oliver didn’t deserve this— But maybe Jacob deserved it. Maybe he deserved all of this at Jack’s hands._

_“But still, she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid until I told her that I would go after Oliver next. That I wouldn’t rest until I felt his heart in my hands.”_

_He summoned his strength. “Your fight is with me. You have me now. Stop this.”_

_“They’re allied with you, Jacob. You brought them against me. And I won’t stop until they’re all dead.”_

_They should be away now, should be safe, he’d told them to retreat to Crawley-_

_“I have from souvenirs from them too, did you know? Perhaps I’ll send something to Oliver. A little parting gift. Something to remember his sweetheart by.”_

\---

When he awoke this time, Evie dragged him out to the kitchen, making a cup of tea while he recounted the dream.

She nodded slowly when he was finished. “Does Oliver know any of this?”

Oh God, no. “I haven’t told him. Do you think I--”

Twisting her nose, she shook her head quickly. “No, no, absolutely not. I just wondered if Jack had actually taunted Oliver as well.”

It hadn’t occurred to him that Jack might have carried through with his threats. He had been so focused on Jacob from beginning to end. “Not to my knowledge.”

She traced the edge of her cup slowly. “I’m still wary of Oliver. I caught him in my room today- I think he was going through my things.”

“He’s a good kid,” Jacob insisted immediately. “He’s been training for years and he’s a good Assassin, he just… They were very in love.” His stomach cramped at the memory: Oliver, glowing with hope, coming to ask Jacob for Connie’s hand because she had no other guardians. He’d been more than happy to give his blessing. They were well-suited, with Oliver’s more serious temperament matched with Connie’s bright ambition. “I should never have--”

“Stop,” Evie said immediately, putting a hand on his cheek. “Stop that. You were facing a monster, she knew the risks, and you made the best decisions you could. You would have died in her place if you had the choice, I know you would have.”

He didn’t think it would ever stop haunting him. “Oliver has every right to be furious.” Although, no right to take that out on Evie. He drew the line there.

“You both need time,” she said gently. “And he’s still an apprentice, he ought to remember that. I’m worried about him, Jacob, and I think he might be trying to do something foolish.”

He put his cup down and held a hand out, ready to go back to bed. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”  


	8. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for explicit sexual content. It's the last part of the chapter, so if you want to avoid, finish reading once the conversation in front of the fire begins.

Surveillance, it turned out, was boring as shit.

Emmett kicked his heels against the roof, biting into an apple and letting out another loud and long sigh. This didn’t feel like it fell under the umbrella of ‘being useful’.

Men were constantly coming and going from Russell’s house, but Emmett wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be gaining from knowing that. Nevertheless, he carefully made note of what he saw, ready to pass that information along to Aunt Evie later.

The sun was high in the sky when Emmett had partly dozed off, lulled by the warmth of the chimney that he was leaning against.

Suddenly, there was a crunch.

Hair standing up along his neck, he whipped around, scrambling to his feet. Two, four, six men were crawling out onto the roof, holding bats and guns.

One of them held his bat out. “Who might you be, little one?”

Emmett’s throat worked as he swallowed, tamping down panic. He was trained for this. He could do this. “I’m no one.”

“Let’s find out,” the man replied, and there was a suspended heartbeat before they rushed him.

\---

The bang at the door was urgent. When Jacob went to answer it, he found a little raggedy boy standing at the threshold, hands on his knees and out of breath.

“Mrs- Dartwood- sent me- asked you to come urgently. Said to tell you ‘Emmett hurt’.”

Anne. Jacob snatched up his coat and took the stairs three at a time as he sprinted down, out onto the street. He hailed a carriage and barked out “double your fare if you get me there in ten minutes!”

His foot tapped anxiously as they hurtled through the busy streets, his stomach cramping as he tried not to imagine the worst.

Practically throwing the fare at the driver, Jacob nearly knocked the astonished Seymour over in his hurry to get in and up the stairs. When he burst through the door, two faces turned to him- Emmett bloody and belligerent, Anne frightened.

Anne’s voice shook. “No missions for another few years, you said!”

Jacob reached the couch in moments, taking Emmett’s face in his hands and turning it to assess the damage. Some bleeding, some bruising, nothing obviously broken. “This wasn't supposed to be- what the hell happened?”

“It's not a big deal,” Emmett muttered.

Anne made a choked noise. “Not a big deal! You come back here shaking and covered in blood, looking like you're fleeing the devil himself—”

Emmett slouched further into the couch. “I was just watching, just like you said, but then some of them found me. I couldn't- there were too many of them.” He looked ashamed at the words. “I got two of them, but had to run from the others.”

“Wait,” Anne said, voice hushed. “Got- when you say _got_ —”

“Anne,” Jacob interrupted. “Could you give us a minute?”

There was a tense silence. She started to speak again, but Jacob held up a hand.

Evie would've taken off his head for the gesture. Anne bit her lip, took a deep breath, and left the room in a whirl of skirts.

He turned back to Emmett. “Tell me what happened.”

Emmett closed his eyes, wincing as he pressed the cloth closer to the bruise lining half of his face. “I’m not sure how they found me, but there were about six of them. I was just on the roof, watching the building, like you said. They cornered me. I stabbed one in the neck with my flat blade, kicked another off the roof, and…” He gritted the rest of the words out bitterly. “I ran. I know I should’ve stayed to fight.”

Jacob was instantly transported back to being a young man himself, sitting in front of his own father, feeling resentment and shame rolled into one as he tried to explain his failures. With a sigh, he plopped down next to Emmett on the couch, patting his son on the knee. “You got away and you took two of them out. You did well.” 

His heart almost hurt at the way that Emmett’s face lit up at the praise, clearly embarrassed and pleased in equal parts. Perhaps he had been a little bit too conservative with his approval. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel pride; just that he wasn’t always sure about how to express it.

Jacob cleared his throat. “Not the best way to have your blooding, but now it’s happened. You’ve earned your gauntlet. I’ll write to have one made.”

Emmett was almost glowing now, his excitement palpable. “I- thank you, Father!”

“And we’ll have to redouble your training.” He stood and straightened his coat. “You say you’re not that badly wounded, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” Turning, he made sure that Emmett saw just the flicker of a smile as he pointed a finger at him.

“I’m _so_ wounded,” Emmett immediately retorted after him as Jacob left the room. “Practically dying even as we speak, I may bleed out on the spot!”

\---

He was almost out the front door when Anne stepped out of the drawing room. “You’re not leaving without speaking to me.”

Jacob had only heard that tone once before, over fifteen years ago when she had pressed him to find out why he had been avoiding her advances. Closing his eyes and suppressing a sigh, he followed her out of the hallway.

She crossed her arms and turned to face him once the door was closed. “What did you say to him?”

“That it was a mission gone wrong and that he handled it well, considering.”

“Is he going to be in danger again?”

“Probably, yes. We’ve spoken about this.”

She bit her lip again and lowered her eyes, shrinking a little bit. The silence swelled in the room until she finally said, in a quiet voice, “why are you avoiding me?”

“This really isn’t a good time, Anne.”

“It’s never a good time,” she insisted, fists balled in her skirt. “I don’t understand- have I displeased you in some way?”

He rubbed his face. “No, of course not.”

“Then why?”

“Things are… Different, now.”

“Different how?”

For all the time he had to prepare for this inevitable conversation, he still had no idea of what to say. “My time with Jack changed me.”

Her face became the picture of horror, her eyes flicking downwards. “Did he- I- did he-… Unman you?”

For the briefest of moments, he thought about going along with that. It would certainly stop the questions. But then his pride kicked in, the thought of her believing him gelded too humiliating. “No, no, God no, nothing like that.”

She looked relieved. “What, then?” She stepped forward, taking his face in her hands. “Has something happened? Let me help, Jacob.”

As she touched him, he was vividly reminded of their first night together. When she had taken his hand and told him that she had long stopped thinking of being lonely as some sort of dramatic virtue- that he was sad and missing someone, and she was sad and missing someone, and surely together they could be a little bit less sad. He had been so grateful for her back then.

But things were different now.

“It should be enough to say that things have changed,” he said, closing his eyes and stepping away from her. “This is how it has to be.”

“But… I don't understand. That makes it sound so final,” she said, eyes round, her voice barely a whisper.

Gingerly, almost like he was approaching a rabid dog, Jacob placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll always be special to me,” he said, trying to make his voice gentle. “And you’re a wonderful mother to Emmett. But please don’t expect me at night.”

Before his resolve could break in the face of her welling tears, he turned and left the room.

\---

Clara and Evie met at the Rose and Crown again, basking in the warmth near the fire.

Reaching out to take Evie’s hand, Clara gave it a long squeeze. “I’m so relieved to see you better. I was terrified when that wall fell.”

“I was just unlucky.” She had written a little bit back and forth with Clara as she was recovering, wanting to know about the aftermath of the explosion. There had been no deaths, thankfully. Two women had broken their arms and several had suffered from severe blows to the head like her own, but most were recovering well.

“I’ve brought the list you asked for,” Clara supplied, pulling a piece of paper out of her coat. “These are the women that were absent from the meeting that had the explosion. There haven’t been any gatherings since- everyone was understandably a bit rattled by what happened- but we’re resuming things soon, I think.”

Evie opened the list and found about a dozen names, none of which she recognized. “And you have no idea if any of these are more likely to be the traitor than the others?”

Clara looked grim. “I can only assume that it was someone who knew about the location of the last meeting but avoided it in order to not be actually caught in the blast. That’s all I have.”

Chewing her lip, Evie considered the possibilities. The novices were already overloaded as it was, and she didn’t want to ask Jacob for help with something that might require a lot of climbing. But this informant was almost certainly connected to the Templars. It was a lead worth pursuing.

She remembered the postcards that had been arriving almost twice a day from Henry, asking increasingly persistently about when he would be able to see her.

“I think I know who to give this to,” she said, tucking the paper into her coat. “Thank you, Clara.”

\---

As Evie climbed the stairs back to the flat, she came around the corner and found Anne pensively staring at their front door with an anguished look on her face. She turned as Evie approached, her features going blank. “Hello, Evie.”

“I don’t know where Jacob is,” Evie said apologetically, “I’ve been out all afternoon—”

“I was looking for you, actually.”

That was new. “Can I help you with something?”

Anne fidgeted with her fur muff, looking uncomfortable. “May we speak freely? Alone?”

Evie nodded and walked towards the door, but Anne stopped her. “I don’t… Not in front of Jacob, he may be home. Perhaps somewhere else?”

Alarm bells now ringing loudly in her head, Evie nodded again and they turned towards the street together.

They were around the corner from the flat when Anne slowed down, taking a gentle pace. “I’m hoping that you may have some insight.”

“I will try,” Evie said cautiously.

“Jacob has stopped…” She seemed to steel herself, lifting her chin. “He won’t even kiss me. This was not a problem before his time with that monster.”

Evie kept her face blank, hoping that her silence would discourage Anne. Unbidden, an image of small and delicate Anne wrapped in Jacob’s arms surged into her mind, his body dwarfing hers; the thought made her feel ill. 

Anne turned her hopeful gaze towards Evie. “Has he said anything to you? Do you know if something has happened?”

This would be much simpler if she didn’t know exactly what had happened. “We don’t really speak of such things, I’m afraid.”

“Of course you don’t,” Anne said, quietly, almost like she was chastising herself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even be speaking with you about this, but I didn’t know where to…” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s happened.”

Evie gave her an awkward pat on the arm. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help.”

“It’s almost like he’s found another,” Anne continued, still mostly talking to herself. “But that can’t- it doesn’t make sense, or- I don’t think it does…”

They had come full circle around the block, back in front of Evie and Jacob’s flat. Evie cleared her throat. “I haven't seen anyone else coming to his room,” she offered, hating that it was the truth and a lie all at once.

“Right,” Anne said quietly. “Well, thank you,” she added, straightening. Her voice became firm again, and Evie saw the flash of a woman who bent but didn’t break, someone who had endured much and could endure much more. Someone who Evie would have liked very much, in another life.

They embraced stiffly and Evie fled, trying to walk away from the tremendous sense of guilt that was nipping at her heels.

\---

Night had fallen completely, the only light in the room from the glow of the fireplace. She had combed through her hair and wound it into a plait, nightdress and robe pulled on to try and hide from the cold.

When they were both settled in front of the fire, she folded her hands and looked to Jacob, the very picture of relaxation as he warmed his feet. “I spoke with Anne today.”

He didn't open his eyes. “Hm?”

“She’s worried that you've stopped seeing her.”

“I know.”

“She’s suspicious. Though I don't think she's decided what she's suspicious of, yet.”

“I know.”

Evie thinned her lips at him.

He sighed and finally slid his gaze towards her. Now that his eyes were open, she could see the furrow of his brow, the frustration of a long and difficult afternoon in the tense way that he held his shoulders. “What would you have me do?”

She stood and pulled her robe a little closer, walking to the window. A cart trundled by outside, the noise loud against the cobblestones. “I don't know.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Sometimes I think it was a mistake to stay,” she said softly. “You have a family here. Anne is a good woman. Emmett deserves two parents.”

The dark thought had been growing, unbidden and unwanted, in the corner of her mind. The conversation with Anne had been horrible enough. With the addition of Henry nearby, a reminder of everything from that different time- which had not been _good_ , but had not been _terrible_ \- it was hard to feel as separated from her old life as she was able to before. 

She heard Jacob shift against the stiff fabric. Even without looking, she could practically see his scowl. “What?”

“There's no place for me in this picture-”

He was up and out of his chair in a flash, crossing the floor in two strides and cupping her face so he could press their foreheads together. “I’ll make a place for you. Always.”

“But what if it’s not right?”

His grip was getting angry. “Stop. Stop doing this to yourself. I’ve had enough of a day today. Just fucking stop.”

“Jacob—”

His kiss was fierce, swallowing the words that might have followed. The force of it was such that she staggered backwards, her back bumping against the wall without grace. Still he pressed on, the whole length of his body pinning her tightly.

Jacob pulled back a fraction of an inch, voice ragged against her cheek. “Even if it’s not right, I don't care.”

When he kissed her like that, she didn't care either. “But—”

“No, listen to me. _I don't care_. I know that you think we should, but I don't.”

He was kissing her again, pulling her robe off roughly and discarding it on the floor. She clung to him, willing his words to seep into her soul and make a home there, to crush her misgivings and let her simply _be_.

If only it could be simple. But that was a luxury far out of reach for them, one that always had been and always would be.

She felt his hand slide along her thigh and she lifted her leg obediently, wrapping it around his waist, rocking against the growing hardness that she could feel there. He groaned at the motion, nipping at her lip and swiping against her tongue when she opened her mouth to gasp.

The air was cold against her skin when her nightdress slid off her shoulders, coaxed along by his fumbling fingers. He immediately dropped his lips downwards, pressing kisses down her neck and chest.

She wanted to just enjoy it. And yet, even now, doubts still pooled in her mind. There was so much at stake, so many lives that could be ruined if things went wrong. She had been so _certain_ before Henry arrived, before Anne had approached her in tears. “But what about the life you had here—”

“That’s not important,” he said, giving her breast a scrape with his teeth that made her whimper. “What's important is you and me, here, right now.” His hand was so close to the aching in her hips now, every inch of movement too slow.

Perhaps it wasn't important. Perhaps he was right. Years ago, she would have assumed that the burden of decision making rightly fell to her alone. But that was before this more responsible and solemn incarnation of her brother, a man who had been broken and rebuilt himself again.

Perhaps it was time she trusted him.

Closing her eyes, she let the thought take hold. To hell with what had come before. Her mind went blank and she was finally able to just _feel_ , feel his lips as they pressed down on her breast, feel the scrape of his stubble across her skin, feel his fingers as they slid along her slit, gentle and teasing.

She twisted against him, silently pleading.

And silent or not, he heard her.

It had been enough to make her dizzy with want, so wet and ready that he met no resistance as his finger slid in right up to the knuckle. His other hand clapped over her mouth, smothering the noise of surprise that tore from her throat. He twisted his fingers and pressed that spot, the one she had almost forgotten about after all these years, the one that made her absolutely want to melt and shudder and _scream_ \- how long had it been since she had felt this? She clasped her hands along his forearm, her fingers shaking until a particularly forceful snap of his wrist made her whole body tense, her nails digging into his skin as she keened. He gently turned her face sideways, leaning in to nip at her neck. “Listen to me,” he whispered, breath ghosting across her skin. “You only need to think about me. Nothing else. Nobody else.”

Any more of this and her legs might give out.

As if she had given a signal that he had been waiting for, he abruptly drew away, leaving her clutching at her nightdress. “Why—” she managed before he spun her around, her steps ungainly and stumbling as she twisted, understanding slowly curling through her fogged up brain as she faced the roses lining the wallpaper.

One hand on her hips, he pressed the other between her shoulder blades; she followed the movement, bending over and biting her lip when he slid his leg between her feet and kicked them apart.

Fleetingly, she had the thought that all those years, Henry had never stopped treating her like spun glass. Like she was delicate and breakable.

But she wasn’t delicate. Never had been.

Rather than bothering with taking her nightdress off, Jacob just pushed it up around her waist, the sudden cold air against her thighs making her hiss in surprise. She heard the slide of his belt coming off, the click of buttons as he worked his trousers open.

The anticipation was making her shake.

Pressing her palms against the wall, she tried to take deep breaths, sucking in air through her teeth. The arousal was so intense that she almost felt nauseous, the pulsing in her hips a frantic drumbeat.

“I let you go once,” he growled, and she felt the nudge of him, hot and slick, pressing against her. “And regretted it every moment afterwards. I mourned for years, Evie. It was like you had died.”

The push was sudden and brutal, all the way to the hilt. Her gasp slid into a groan almost immediately as she stretched around him, the pressure perfect, the hint of pain exquisite.

“Fuck,” he whispered, hands sliding down her back, settling onto her waist. He tried another thrust and she writhed, trying to twist up on her toes to meet him. Cursing again, he started to rock his hips, holding her tightly in place. “I'm not doing it again; do you understand?”

“What?” she said breathlessly, long having forgotten anything but the feel of him and the way it sent waves of pleasure through her body when he moved.

He moved one hand to the small of her back and wrapped his fingers around her braid, yanking her back into an arch. “I said- I'm not letting you go again, do you understand?”

As soon as he pulled it was an entirely new sensation, raw and incredible, each push fuller. “Yes,” she managed, breathless. She would've agreed to anything. “Yes, yes, _yes_ -”

“Good,” he said, voice practically a snarl, “because if you think that I'm letting that fucking husband of yours-” his words were punctuated with thrusts now, each one harder than the last, and it was all she could do to clench her teeth together and try and not wake the entire building, “-have you even one more time, you're sadly mistaken, and I never want anyone else.”

This was a ruinous thing, a consuming fire that she knew would destroy everything in its wake. But isn’t it time, a voice whispered in her ear, that they were happy? There had already been so many years of self-denial, of doing what she thought was the right thing for everyone else. So many years of being numb for the sake of others. Would it be so terrible if they just did as they wished?

She had come so close to losing him completely. Remember, that voice whispered again, when you decided to stay- the joy at finding him again. Remember how obvious it was then.

He released her hair and his hands circled around to her front, running along her stomach and tracing patterns that sank into her skin like molten metal. “You said you wouldn’t leave,” he whispered, and it was a mix between a command and a plea, a request and a supplication.

Curling her fists against the wall, she hung her head. “I did,” she agreed. “I did.”

“So don’t,” he insisted.

No more wavering. “I won’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I won't.”

The ragged breath he drew was a sound half of pleasure and half of relief. His movements grew slightly slower, just that bit more gentle. Her eyes fluttered shut when he reached around to where they were joined, looking for the spot that made her come undone.

When the wave of pleasure came, she _shattered_. A hand snapped forward to cover her mouth again- just as well, for she wailed as it hit her, her knees nearly buckling under the rush of her release. He continued his movements as she writhed, each thrust prolonging the intensity of it, giving another wave of pleasure as the sensation ripped through her body.

Supporting her as she finally went weak, he pulled away long enough to convey her to their bed, guiding her stumbling legs. When he pushed her down against the coverlet with her legs hanging over the side, she wrapped her hands in the fabric, trying to remember her own name, trying to remember how to breathe.

“Fucking hell,” he moaned as he pushed back into her, the whole bed now rattling against the wall from his efforts. He snapped his hips forward, his pace now punishing, his own breathing becoming ragged; she arched up to meet him when she could, moaning like each thrust pushed the sound from her. His fingers were digging so tightly into her hips that she was sure it would leave bruises, marks that she would be able to see for days. To remind her that she would stay. No more wavering.

Her name was on his lips, whispered like a prayer when he finally stilled, shaking as he spilled in her. She felt the ghost of his breath against the top of her spine as his body bowed, gasping his release.

When he pulled away, it was on shaking arms. He collapsed beside her, panting for a moment before he leaned over her, pulling her close.

“Sleep,” he grunted. “You're not going anywhere.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hoping all of the secondary characters- Anne, Jane, the novices- aren't too difficult to keep track of. It's all so obvious in my head, but I have no way of knowing if that's coming out or not.


	9. Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter opens with a Jack recollection, in italics. Skip to the next text break if you want to avoid.

_“Your sister has arrived.”_

_He hadn't even heard Jack approach, his senses so numbed by his time in the cell that he barely could feel his own body._

_“I left her a present.”_

_The words were enough to pierce even through the fog of his mind. “You- what did you do-“_

_“Edna. I left Edna.”_

_What? No, it couldn't be, Edna should have fled with the others-_

_“She was still searching for you,” Jack supplied, as if hearing his thoughts._

_No, no, no, not another novice. “But why would you- I didn't- I didn't send her after you—”_

_“No,” Jack agreed. “You didn't.”_

_This wasn't real, it couldn't be real. “Then why?” he asked, voice breaking on the word, knowing that no rational answer was coming._

_“She always liked things so precise, didn't she, Edna? So I took out her insides and I arranged them so neat.” He said the words slowly, making sure they sunk in. “Piled them up beside her head on the bed. She lived for part of it. Left my art for your sister to find.”_

_Jacob’s vision swam. “Why?” he said again._

_Jack gave a shrug. For a painful moment, Jacob saw the young man underneath the mask, the boy he thought he could fix. “I don't like bossy women. Edna was always such a bitch about what I could and couldn't do-women should be seen, not heard.”_

_There was a hiccoughing noise. It took Jacob a few moments to realize that it was coming from himself. It took longer to realize that it was laughter, rusty and unused for some time._

_“What’s so funny,” Jack hissed, suddenly lurching forward and kicking Jacob in the ribs._

_Wheezing, Jacob slumped over and felt a mad grin form. “You're going to_ hate _Evie.”_

\---

For years, Evie had been a morning person, someone who relished the early hours of the day.

Recently, it was getting more difficult to get out of bed.

“Don't go,” Jacob whispered against the back of her neck, arm tucked tightly around her waist.

She craned around to look at him. “Henry’s coming this morning, I have to get ready.”

He just groaned and pulled her even closer, the scratch of his beard against her shoulder. “But why?” He sounded as petulant as when he was ten and denied the last piece of their birthday cake, and her lips twitched at the memory.

“I have a job for him- something to make him feel useful.” She wriggled out of his arms as he made unhappy noises, walking to her carefully folded clothes. “I have a list of potential colluders for the bomb that injured me- he's going to help me narrow them down.”

Jacob propped his head on his hand and narrowed his eyes. “Working separately, right?”

“Yes, yes.” She ran a brush through her hair, quickly twisting it into a bun at the nape of her neck.

“Because you know how I feel about-”

“Yes,” she said hurriedly, feeling a surge of heat in her cheeks and… elsewhere. “You made that _quite_ clear.”

He chuckled, the sound only intensifying that heat. Good God, it was like being twenty again.

When she was finished dressing, she leaned down and pressed a quick peck to his forehead, smiling as he made a satisfied noise at her touch.

\---

He was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea and his paper when the door opened.

Greenie’s head poked in. “Oh, Jacob- I've thought of another question for Evie, do you know where she might be?”

Jacob had heard the low murmur of the two of them speaking as he got ready for the day. Having endured a lecture from Evie about being pleasant, he had gritted his teeth and stayed in his bedroom, shaving more slowly than usual. If he could just avoid Greenie, he wouldn’t have to make nice.

But avoidance was a difficult strategy when the person in question didn't fucking knock. “She's out. Don't know where.”

“Right,” Greenie nodded. There was a moment’s hesitation. “It has been good to see you recovering.”

Jacob flipped up his newspaper and grunted.

“Evie was missed at home, but I am glad that she could visit to care for you.” There was a subtle undercurrent to Greenie’s tone now. “Perhaps you could come and stay with us for a while, as you once did- I know that she will be sad to leave you again. I would welcome your visit.”

Like hell he would. He gritted out the words. “I’ll consider it.”

“And in the meantime, let me know how I can help to get things back to normal.” The unspoken next part of his sentence was clear: _so that we can go home_.

“You’re not needed here,” he heard himself snap.

Greenie’s brow furrowed. “I know that Evie is out—”

“No.” Jacob folded his paper, the disingenuous civilities riling him up more quickly than a proper threat ever could. “I mean you’re not needed _here_. In London. In England.”

The air in the room turned frosty. “I beg your pardon?”

“I didn't ask for your help. No one did.”

“I’m offering.”

“Well, I don't want it.”

“Because you had things so well in hand?”

“Well enough that I don’t need assistance from you—”

“But do need it from your sister. Still expecting her to bail you out. To abandon the rest of her life in your hour of need.”

He tried to school himself in patience. “Don’t bring her into this.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Greenie’s gaze had become hard, the tilt of his head interrogating. “Why shouldn’t I be concerned for the welfare of my wife?”

The urge to tell him that his wife was _perfectly_ well taken care of was overwhelming. “She can speak for herself.”

“She’s too kind to tell you that she wants to go home.”

“How generous of you to pass that along.”

“I just want to be sure that you know her thoughts—”

Something in him snapped. “I don’t presume to know what she thinks, but I can sure as hell tell you what _I_ think: I don’t want you here. Kindly get the hell out of my flat and don’t come back.” 

Raising his hands, Greenie retreated, face inscrutable.

Bastard. How had he ever thought the man a benign influence, something to be benevolently tolerated from afar? Jacob even vaguely remembered being _grateful_ that Greenie was so kind to Evie, that she was with someone who wasn’t cruel or neglectful.

That was before he had Evie back. Before Greenie stood between them and relaxing into their new normal. The prick needed to _go away_. As soon as possible.

One day. One day soon, Evie would finally tell the smug bastard that she was staying, and if he reacted badly enough, Jacob might even get to land a solid punch.

Mollified by the thought, he went back to his tea.       

\---

The first three women on her list had entirely reasonable- and unpredictable- reasons for missing the meeting where the bomb had gone off. A sick child. A desperate neighbour. A broken-down carriage. It might have been an elaborate ruse, but at the moment, the informant shouldn’t have had any reason to suspect they were being monitored. Given that, it seemed unlikely.

Evie was tucked into an alcove and following the fourth woman, tracing her steps like a shadow. So far, it had been entirely mundane. Some shopping, a stop to visit with neighbours about something innocuous, a trip to the laundry. Nothing of note.

As night fell, she gave up on her task, walking back to the flat. She was almost there when there was a voice at her elbow. “Mrs. Green?”

She turned and a little boy was holding out a note to her. “Your husband wanted me to give you this.”

It was hard not to twitch at the name and the reminder. “Thank you,” she said, taking the note and unfolding it. It simply conveyed that he had a promising lead and that he wanted her to come join him. An address was scribbled at the bottom.

Sighing, she set out in that direction.

When she found him, he was sitting on his heels on a roof, gaze trained across the road. “Fifth woman on my list,” he said, pointing to a window. “Meredith Lockwood. Everything was normal until she met a group of Rooks, some of the ones working for Russell. They had a quick conversation, she passed them an envelope, and then they parted ways.”

“Strange,” Evie agreed, settling down beside him. She could vaguely see a female form in the window that he pointed to, seated at a desk. “If she is our informant, that would make Russell in league with the Templars.”

“Quite.” They sat in silence for a time. “I had a letter from my Mother today,” he said slowly. “She wants to know when we are coming back.”

She sighed. “I’m not sure, Henry, Jacob still isn’t well-”

“Evie,” he said gently. “I have eyes.”

The words could’ve meant a million things. She frowned at him quickly, cocking her head.

“You don’t intend to go back to India, do you?”

She just looked at him, immobile and sad. He understood her silence well enough.

With a rueful nod, he sighed, rubbing his hands against his trousers. “I suspected as much.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know how to tell you, and of course, I want you to be happy back there-”

“What?” He looked surprised. “Evie, if you’re staying, I’m staying too. You’re my wife.”

Her heart constricted in her chest. “You don’t- that’s really not necessary-”

“Of course it is,” he said. “I will start looking for flats next week, I can’t keep intruding on Alfred’s hospitality. Once I have somewhere that I think may work, you can come see if you approve of it.” He meant for her to join him, she saw now, for them to live together again.

“But,” she said weakly, “Jacob-”

“Jacob has Anne,” he said firmly. “And Emmett. And half a dozen novices. He doesn’t need to specifically keep you chained to his side. He’s being unreasonable.”

At some point, she seemed to remember being brave, being able to confidently state her thoughts. It was before two decades of living a life that she didn’t want to live, cowed by the fear of ruining everything for people around her. She’d discovered a little bit of that spark again when she decided to stay, but it seemed to desert her completely in the face of this earnest man who had rescued her once, entirely selflessly, twenty years ago. “I, uh,” she said weakly. “We’ll talk more about this.”

He took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. There had been such comfort in that gesture once.

She sensed that he was about to lean in for a kiss; she bolted to her feet, snatching her hand away. “I have to get back,” she said hurriedly. Quickly descending the tiles, she rappelled off the side of the roof, sliding away.

Finally alone and on the ground, she pressed her head to a cool brick wall, attracting stares from some passing Mollies as she groaned to herself. This was a disaster. She’d have to tell Jacob. No; she should fix this without bothering him about it. She could do it. She had to do it. It was like discovering that she was pregnant all over again, knowledge locked in her chest and rattling fear through her bones. Except that this time, she was determined to stay, come hell or high water.

\---

It was the fourth meeting he’d organized in a week. A crowd of Rooks were huddled in the dingy room, looking nervous. Jacob had discovered that it was much easier to get them to gather if it was somewhere away from Whitechapel, far away from Russell’s perceived influence.

“Right,” he said, steepling his fingers. “I’m back. Jack is gone. Russell isn’t one of us- he’s taking advantage.” And possibly working for the Templars to boot. “I’m looking for assurance that if I declare, you will come to my aid.”

The men and women eyed each other nervously. “We’d like to,” one finally volunteered. “But Jack was ruthless in taking out opposition, and Russell is just as bad.”

“Don’t worry about Russell,” Jacob said firmly. “Let me worry about Russell, and trust me when I say that he’s not coming out of this in one piece if he tries to hurt any more dissenters.” He made eye contact with each person in the room, trying to assure them of his seriousness. “Not too far in the future, I will declare a gang war. When that time comes, I’m counting on you to be on my side.”

There was another silence. Finally, a woman stepped forward, shoulders squared. “You was always good to us, Mr. Frye. It hasn’t sat right, following this other fellow. I’ll be there.” She gave her compatriots a disdainful look. “And if you have any sense, you’ll be there too.”

Slow nods filled the room.

After they left, Roy melted out of the corner, looking curious. “I don’t understand. Why don’t we just kill Russell and _tell_ everyone that you’re in charge now?”

Jacob leaned back with a sigh. “You weren’t raised in Whitechapel. People don’t follow politics there. They understand power. They understand force. If we did what you suggest, there would be a scrabble while we endured challengers and interlopers for months to come.” He put his face in his hands, suddenly very tired. “We need one big show of strength. A gang war is the usual pattern, and it’s what people will respect the most.”

Roy looked thoughtful. “So it’s theatre, then.”

Getting to his feet, Jacob dusted his coat down. “Essentially, yes.”

\---

On a day where spring was gently beginning to touch the trees, Evie went to the warehouse by the Thames and discovered Jane sitting in a chair, looking a bit bemused, holding a small collection of flowers in her lap.

“Those are nice,” Evie commented, collecting some knives from the table.

Jane blinked slowly. “Emmett got them for me.”

Evie had to suppress a smile. “How thoughtful of him.”

Lifting the blooms, Jane put her nose to the flowers, taking a deep sniff. “They're lovely.” When she put the bouquet down, she was a bit pink, her smile soft and sweet. “I didn't know he had it in him.”

Later in the day, she found Emmett doing some boxing drills, face focused.

“Straighten your left shoulder,” Evie said, “and move your feet slightly further apart.”

He immediately obeyed, adjusting his swing.

“Much better,” she said approvingly. “I saw Jane with her flowers earlier today.”

He froze. “Did she- did she like them? I asked Mother what to get.”  

“She certainly did.”

She watched as he grinned, wide and happy, an achingly familiar smile from when she was younger. He moved back to his punches with enthusiasm, knocking down imaginary opponents.

“You know,” Evie said slowly, “she's very fond of the theatre.”

His brow furrowed. “Yeah, but I can't afford-”

“Many years ago, I helped a famous actress get rid of a fan that was giving her some trouble. She's retired now, but I'm sure if I asked, she could get some tickets to whatever is popular at the moment.”

He dropped his arms. “Would you- you would do that?”

“Of course.”

“Wonderful,” he breathed. “Oh wow, she might even kiss m- I mean, uh, I'm sure she’ll love that.” He was turning as pink as Jane had, and Evie bit her lip to stop from smiling.

“I'll let you know when I have them.”

“Thanks, Aunt Evie.” He hopped over and gave her a bit of an awkward half-hug. “Thanks a million.”

\---

He had put Emmett back on guard duty to watch out for Evie’s suspect going to Russell’s. Evie recommended that they lessen the risk by not sending him alone- a good suggestion, overall, but most of the other novices were busy.

In the end, he had decided to send Jane along, counting on her lack of interest to keep them focused. But that, of course, was before he knew about the tutelage that Emmett had been getting from the women in his life as of late.

Jacob climbed the stairs in the building, appreciating that he could now go four flights without his ankle becoming too sore. Climbing the brickwork probably wouldn’t have been outside his reach, but Evie had been constantly lecturing him about their age and the importance of letting wounds heal at their own pace. It was a lot like being young again, except for the part where he now actually listened to her. 

Hopping up the last bit of stairs, he pushed the trap door of the roof open, poking his head out. “Just checking up o— oh, fuck.”

For a moment, everything seemed suspended. Emmett was sitting with his back to the trap door, but Jacob could see that Jane was nestled in his arms, her fingers twined in his hair. In slow motion, they pulled apart and Emmett swivelled around as Jane’s face turned to abject horror.

“Father,” Emmett sputtered. The two of them shoved each other apart and stumbled to their feet. Their clothing was rumpled and untucked, Jacob realized, which unfortunately meant this had to have been going on for a while. “This isn’t— I—”

Jacob squeezed his eyes very tightly shut. “In two seconds,” he said, “I’m going to open my eyes, and none of this is going to have happened. Are we clear?”

“Clear,” they chorused, Jane’s voice a bit wobbly.

The tiles were firm under his hand as he hoisted himself onto the roof. “Right. Have you actually been watching the house at all?”

“Yes,” Jane said instantly, her face bright red. “The woman that Evie pointed out has come and gone three times in as many days, she clearly has close contact with Russell.”

“Good. Jane, you’re dismissed.” She scurried away, clearly keen to get out of his presence, and he turned to his son. “Really, Emmett?”

His face darkened. “Jane is amazing.”

“No, not— of course Jane is lovely, and frankly, she deserves better than you. But on a job?”

There was a small part of his brain that pointed out that this was the height of hypocrisy. He couldn’t even count the number of times that he and Evie had gotten sidetracked when they were meant to be focusing on a mission.

Emmett looked a bit guilty, but he shrugged his shoulders. “Surveillance is so boring.”

Jacob had a vague memory of saying possibly the exact same thing. Likely on a rooftop much like this one. He sighed and rubbed his face. “It is. But I’m sending you with Walter from now on.”

Shoulders hunched in, Emmett scowled.

“Ask your Mother to arrange a supper for the four of us. I’m sure she’d like to meet Jane properly.”

The scowl was replaced with a flash of nervousness, followed by pride. “I will.”

“Good.” Jacob clapped a hand on Emmett’s arm. “For the record, I think you could hardly do better. Don’t screw this up.”

Going down the stairs, Jacob found himself gripped by the bitter thought that Emmett would benefit from not spending a lifetime glancing over his shoulder, perpetually worried that people might found out who he loved.  


	10. Discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jack flashback is particularly distressing in this chapter (warning for implied sexual assault). I've included a quick summary in the end notes. So if you're uncomfortable, go ahead and skip everything in italics and you won't be missing anything.

Fiddling with his cuff-links, Emmett took a deep breath in front of the mirror.

The dinner almost hadn’t happened. When he’d first approached Jane, she’d balked, insisting that she didn’t have the clothes or the manners to sit down with his family. As an orphan raised in the streets of Whitechapel, she was adamant that she would do nothing but embarrass herself if given the chance.

Flummoxed, he turned to Mother. She immediately took matters into her own hands. Which, in hindsight, he probably should have predicted.

Next thing he knew, the date was set, Jane was being fitted for something appropriate, and Mother was arguing with Cook about whether it was too extravagant to serve both bouillabaisse _and_ fricandeau of veal with spinach for a four-person dinner party.

Smoothing his hair down for the millionth time, he noted that his dinner jacket was starting to feel a little tight around the shoulders. He’d probably have to ask Mother for a new one soon. Jane would no doubt be appalled at the idea that he could just go and have something to tailor-made whenever he wanted. He was more appalled at the idea that she had never received anything new to wear in her entire life. After all, he’d never wanted for anything. Grandfather had organized Mother’s trust in such a way that she always had a comfortable income, even after _that man_ absconded to Sussex with his mistress.

As usual, the thought of _that man_ made his jaw tighten. His half-sister Adelie had been by to visit a few days ago, and Mother had locked herself in her room to have a little cry after. Just like she always did. He knew how much it pained her that she had been separated from her own children until they had reached majority and were able to seek her out on their own.

Oh well. At least she had him.

Sometimes he still toyed with the idea of making _that man_ a target once he was a full Assassin. He doubted that his half-siblings would miss the bastard much.

A knock at the door jarred him from his thoughts. “Yes?”

Seymour stepped in, looking as grave as ever. “Your Mother wished for me to ask if you need any assistance, and to tell you than she and the young lady will be down soon.”

“No,” Emmett said, straightening his lapels one last time. “Thank you, Seymour. Tell Mother I’ll be downstairs in the drawing room.”

He descended and found Father already there, staring into the fire with a glass of brandy in hand. It was unusual to see him dressed so formally, right down to the cravat. They nodded at each other a little awkwardly in greeting.

Father wiggled his glass a little. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.” Maybe it would ease his nerves a bit. Father poured a drink from the decanter that Mother kept on the mantle and they stood together, the ticking of the clock overly loud in his ears.

“Stop being so nervous,” Father finally said, giving him a grin. “You’re making _me_ nervous.”

Emmett was about to try and retort when the door opened and Mother came through. She looked much as she always did, elegant and respectable.

Then Jane stepped in the door.

Her hair was piled on top of her head with a few blond ringlets curling down the side of her face. The dress was a soft pink that made her cheeks glow, sweeping all the way down to the floor with a lace trim. Mouth going a bit dry, Emmett suddenly realized that her comfortable Assassin gear had been hiding what was probably the smallest waist he had ever seen.   

There was a beat of pause as they stared at each other. Vaguely, in the back of his head, Emmett could sense that Father and Mother were doing their absolute best not to smile too knowingly.  

The sound of the gong echoed through the room as Seymour announced dinner. Father offered his arm to Mother, and Emmett imitated the motion; Jane hesitated a little before accepting it.

She leaned in to whisper at him. “I don’t really think this dress suits me.”

“Don’t be daft,” he immediately said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind before he realized how it might sound. “I mean, uh- you look perfect.”

The smile she gave him was beauty itself.

\---

Sitting at her desk, Evie moved the lamp a little closer to her notes.

Not that the extra light mattered. She couldn’t focus on anything.

It was irrational, she knew, and unaccountable. Jacob had been nothing but straightforward since she had returned. _She_ was the one who wavered, not he. There was absolutely no reason to worry about Anne, no reason whatsoever.

And yet it nagged at her anyway.

Giving up on her reading, Evie stood to put on her coat. Perhaps she could work out some of her frustration on target practice. If nothing else, it would be a good distraction.

She threaded her way through the streets and down to the Thames. The mist was thick, curling across the cobblestones, soaking into her coat with disheartening quickness. Spring couldn’t come soon enough, even if the added warmth meant that the smell hanging over London would become thicker and harder to dispel.

She found everything dark and deserted at the warehouse. Slipping in through the side door, she was working to light the lamp when there was a thump upstairs.

Immediately on guard, she silently set the matches down. Summoning her focus, she closed her eyes until the world was bathed in grey when she opened them again, the glowing outline of a silhouette confirming that someone was upstairs.

Someone who was not meant to be there.

Without making a sound, she slowly worked her way towards the stairs. That room was where they kept all the copies of their reports and research. She had put most of her own sources and books there shortly after moving to the new flat, finding that it was simpler to cross-reference when everything was in one place.

The spy could be a Templar, she reasoned, looking for information on artifacts. Or one of the traitor Rooks, trying to find out more about their resources. Or possibly a plain old thief about to be disappointed at the lack of valuables, though that seemed the least likely.

At the top of the stairs, she could see a dim light flickering through the crack next to the floor. Which meant they were looking for something specific.

Pressing her back to the wall, she drew out one of her knives and gripped it firmly in her palm. Then, with a deep breath, she turned the handle and shoved it open.

The shocked face that stared up at her was neither Templar nor Rook. Instead, it was Oliver, pale skin glowing into the candlelight, his stunned face frozen as his other hand rifled through an open drawer.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

Biting back an angry rebuke, Evie slowly put her knife away. “What are you doing, Oliver?”

“I was…” he floundered. “Looking for something.”

“What were you looking for?”

“One of the munitions shipment reports,” he said, giving her a weak smile.

“Right,” Evie said. “They’re in the binder downstairs. It’s research and intelligence up here.”

He nodded quickly and snapped the drawer shut. “Of course, I can’t believe I forgot. I’ll go look there.”

He slipped past Evie, clattering down the stairs. Lips pursed, Evie went to the drawer and drew it open, quickly flipping through the files. They were all of her old research- some as old as when she and Jacob had very first come to London, hunting for the shroud. Nothing seemed to be missing, but she had written them so long ago that it was hard to be sure.

Grimly, she shut the drawer. She would have to tell Jacob about this, of course. The question was if he was in a position to- or for that matter, would be willing to- do anything about it.

\---

When she returned to the flat, she found that Jacob still wasn’t home. Lighting the stove to warm her hands and make some tea, she brooded into the cold air, heart tight as she tried to imagine Oliver’s grief over Connie’s murder. She had lost Jacob once, yes, but it was not the same at all. She had lost him to distance, not death. And that had hurt enough. If Jack had actually managed to kill him…

The latch eventually clicked and Jacob’s heavy footsteps moved into the front room. Standing to go to him, Evie found him whistling a happy tune, grinning widely as he shook the damp off his coat. It had clearly been a good night.

The jealousy bubbled up, but she was absolutely determined not to show it. It was beneath her. “Did you have a pleasant dinner?”

“Emmett almost fainted when Jane first joined us,” Jacob said, chuckling softly. “Kept dropping his cutlery every time she smiled at him. Poor boy’s fallen hard.”

“That’s sweet.”

“It is,” he agreed, turning to stroke a thumb along her jaw. “I remember the feeling.”

Smiling, she twined her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a long kiss. When he started to draw back, Evie tightened her grip and deepened the kiss instead, slanting her mouth open until they were brushing tongues, a surge of triumph rushing through her as he groaned. How could she ever have thought she could go without this again?

“I’m glad to see you too,” he murmured when she finally released him enough that he could pull away a fraction of an inch. She could feel the quirk of his smile against her lips.

“Bed,” she said, fingers working deftly at the buttons of his vest. “Now.”

\---

The young could keep their enthusiasm, Jacob decided. The blush of first love was heady, but this was like a fine vintage port. It grew more valuable and gained more depth with age.

She’d managed to work most of his clothes off by the time they made it to the bed, leaving a scattered trail of fabric behind him. Hers took a bit longer, encumbered as they were with excessive clasps and buttons, but they managed.

He had been waiting for this. For months, she had seemed almost shy, hiding behind covers or a nightgown whenever he didn't insist. Even when she initiated, he could sense that she was holding herself back a little, afraid or hesitant for reasons that he couldn’t fully understand. When he asked, she wouldn't explain. 

But now she was bold. He shuddered with want as she climbed atop him, nails skimming down his chest, rocking against him wantonly. God but she was beautiful, eyes filled with lust and affection in equal measure.

Tugging her down a bit, he reached to the nape of her neck and started pulling the pins out of her hair.

Evie stopped to help, working much more quickly than he ever could. “I’ve never really understood what you like about this.”

“It’s nice,” he said, not sure that he could explain the satisfaction of it pooling down her back. The way that it made a curtain when she moved over him, the softness of it as it fell against his skin. And the vaguely satisfying sensation of taking something so sleek on someone so usually reserved and making it a terrible rumpled mess.

Once it was free, Jacob expectantly slid his hands down her front, ready to coax her along. But she surprised him again. As Evie leaned down to pull him into another deep kiss, he felt the sudden tightness and warmth as she eased him inside, fingers digging lightly into his shoulders. Christ, she was so wet already, welcoming and willing. All for him. 

Twisting her head sideways, she tucked her nose against the crook of his shoulder and began to move, undulating her hips. Drawing up his legs a little, he improved the angle, but he was otherwise more than willing to simply enjoy it. He skimmed his fingers down the soft skin of her back, panting into the air, edging on delirious as each gentle movement opened her up a little deeper.

She was home. She was his. She was everything.

He felt the puff of air against his neck as she spoke. “I love you,” she whispered, pressing kisses to his skin between each of her words. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

They had lived on borrowed time when they were young, flirting with death and ignoring the consequences. Everything had been heightened and made more intense by it, a roaring fire that burned them both to ashes in the end.

But now- now, there would always be tomorrow, and everything was sweeter and softer in its glow.

Threading his fingers through her hair, he held her close and she rocked over him until his release drew up, less like a firework and more like a long and deeply held sigh. It stretched through his whole body, a drawn-out breath pushing from his lungs, entrancing for the way that he could so clearly feel everywhere that their skin was touching.

When she slid down to lie against the pillow, her hair was a dark cloud, framing her face.

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “You're perfect.”

The smile she gave him was beauty itself.

\---

_The world felt distinctly unreal._

_He had the vague suspicion that he'd probably been drugged again, something slipped in the thin soup that Jack had given him earlier. The one redeeming factor was that it numbed the pain- his ankle didn't hurt, for once, and even his eye was only throbbing mildly._

_When the door to his cell creaked open, it sounded so loud to his ears that he flinched._

_“Hello, Jacob.”_

_Maybe if he ignored Jack, he would go away._

_“I have another present for you.”_

_Oh God, no, not again._

_Jack flicked something towards him. Jacob’s hands wouldn't quite do what he wanted them to, but he groped around until he found it. The texture was soft in his hands and it took a few moments to realise that he was holding a lock of brown hair._

_“What…” he mumbled, before his brain foggily remembered that he probably didn't want to know._

_Jack tutted. “Has it really been so long since India that you don't recognise her hair anymore?”_

_He didn't think he had any faith left. But as the implication settled in, his stomach dropped through the floor. “What- what have you-”_

_“Don't fret. She's my guest.”_

_Oh no. No, no, no. “You- you-”_

_“She's quite lovely, especially when she cries. I understand what you saw in her.”_

_He was too disoriented, he couldn't keep up. He kept running the strands of hair in his fingers, trying to decide how much of this was real. If any of it was real._

_“I only made the connection a few days ago, when I saw her again. All those years ago in India- why does a woman ever sneak to a man’s room in the middle of the night?”_

_“It… No,” Jacob said. His gaze was starting to become unfocused, Jack’s mask swimming before his eyes. “No.”_

_“Our very dearest mentor, fucking his sister.”_

_“No-”_

_“Are you sure? You should’ve. I’ve found she’s a great fuck.”_

_Oh God, he was definitely going to throw up. He tried to stand, to put some strength into his feet, to throttle sense into Jack, but his legs wouldn’t work-_

_“Some of the Rooks agree.”_

_He couldn’t breathe._

_“I’ve taken your Rooks, I’ve taken your apprentices, and I’ve taken your sister. Don’t you see? This is always what was going to happen_ _. You made me into this_ _._ _You never deserved to lead._ _”_

_He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, she wasn't safe, she wasn't_ safe-

\---

Heart thumping at an impossible rate, Jacob sucked in lungfuls of cold air, hands shaking so hard that he had to fist them in the coverlet to stop the trembling. A slick sheen of sweat had built up against his skin, damp and cold in the evening air. The light of the streetlamp outside cut through the darkness, a welcome disturbance after the pitch black of his cell.

Evie was still sleeping beside him. She was apparently tired enough that she had gone undisturbed by his nightmare.

For what felt like the millionth time, Jacob reminded himself that Jack was gone. She was here. She hadn’t been captured. She hadn’t been hurt. They had been lies from start to finish, designed only to break him.

In a strange way, Jack’s taunts about Evie had been both the hardest and the easiest part of his torture. Hardest because even the suggestion was enough to make him want to vomit. Easiest because when the drugs wore off, he would always circle back to the fact that if Jack really had Evie, he wouldn’t have settled for taunting with a bit of hair. That and the knowledge that Evie was certainly capable of handing Jack’s ass to him on a platter.

Settling back down into the pillows, Jacob slowly relaxed as Evie sleepily curled against his side, pressing her nose to his arm and chasing the warmth of his body. He adjusted his arm to be around her shoulder, cradling her close until he felt the last of his jittery nerves finally ease.

She was safe. She had always been so.

Although- the dream did highlight one thing. Even if Jack had been wrong about Evie, he unfortunately hadn’t been wrong about the amount of sway that he held over his acolytes. Jacob had seen enough evidence of that after the fact.

Staring at the dark ceiling, he made a note to put things into motion tomorrow.

It was past time to take back the Rooks.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jane/Emmett (Jemmett? Janett?) forever <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Are you at all curious about how the Victorians ate? [**GO WATCH THIS.**](https://youtu.be/t5dr8WSPhzw) It's one episode of a documentary/comedy series about eating food a from certain period for a week and it's friggin' hilarious. The whole series is excellent, actually. 
> 
> At some point I thought this fic was going to wrap up around 10 chapters hahahahaha I was so young and foolish back then. 
> 
> **Jack Flashback Summary** : Having run out of apprentices to kill, Jack moves on to telling Jacob that he has captured Evie. He then implies that he is aware of their incestuous relationship and that she has been violated by himself and others. Jacob doesn't fully believe this but is sickened and terrified by the suggestion.


	11. Commitment

The _crack_ of the explosion was Jacob’s cue to get moving.

Moving carefully down the slope of the roof, he swung until he was hanging by his fingertips, gingerly reaching the windowsill. His ankle ached ever so slightly when he put some weight on it, but it was light enough that he would likely be fine.

He slipped into the room, lined with bookshelves and a writing desk. It was empty, just as they’d planned, everyone having cleared out to go track down the source of the explosion. Not that they would find anything other than a small crater. Roy was too quick for that.

Russell’s bedroom should be somewhere on this floor. After three locked doors that he easily picked open, Jacob found it, extravagant and finely furnished.

Slipping an envelope from his coat pocket, Jacob placed it carefully on the man’s pillow.

He’d debated going ahead and just sending the letter through regular post, but after some thought, he decided that he liked this better. After all, messages could mean more than one thing. The words would say:

_Gang war. February 22 nd. Devil’s Acre. Be there or forfeit the borough._

But the act of the note left somewhere so intimate would clearly and wordlessly say:

_I know where you sleep. I can find where you are without anyone knowing. You are only alive because I allow you to be._

\---

Evie stepped into the pub and unwrapped her scarf. She could see the back of Clara’s head in a booth against the wall, settled into their meeting place.

When she walked to the table, though, she was shocked to find that half of Clara’s face was covered in a black and purple bruise. It was yellowing around the edges, a sickly colour that looked painful and raw. “My God,” Evie said, sitting across from her. “What happened to you?”

“A tile fell most _mysteriously_ from a roof,” Clara said wryly. “Someone called out a warning and I made the mistake of looking up.”

“Was it an attack?”

“I sent someone up afterwards and there were no loose or missing tiles, so yes, it would appear I was a target.”

Things were clearly escalating if Clara was now being attacked an as individual. “Has anything happened that might have prompted this?”

Clara leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I've been encouraging strike action at several different factories. Three are just on the cusp of moving forward. I can't think of anything else- our suffrage meetings have been staggered since the explosion, though some of us are still meeting in private and drafting letters to parliament.” She grimaced. “Until we find out what's happening, our work for women’s rights will have to wait.”

“I imagine that's what the assailant wants.”

Clara closed her eyes and sighed, gently touching the bruise at her face. “I'll be keeping a low profile for a while.”

“It's perhaps for the best,” Evie said. “I believe we’re getting closer to the truth- after that, you'll be safe.”

\---

Jacob was sitting by the window. His gathered apprentices and Evie kept their attention on Henry, who was giving his report on monitoring Lockwood.

He knew that he had to stay and listen, but damn if he didn’t want to walk over and punch the smarmy bastard’s face.

But he couldn’t, so instead he kept his gaze on the street below.

“Miss Lockwood’s role as a messenger has been incredibly useful,” Henry was saying, calm and steady as always. “I haven’t been able to actually access anything that she’s written, as her intended recipients always burn the message as soon as they receive it. But she appears to relay letters back and forth between several contacts, acting as a conduit. There are two or three individuals that may be our target Master Templar- I’ve given you the list,” he added, gesturing to Evie. “I’ll be working on narrowing it down to the likeliest individual. My money is on Elizabeth Grant, who is married to a Lord who sits in the commons.”

Report over, the apprentices stood and everyone began to filter out of the flat. Everyone had their missions- mainly sabotage of the traitor Rooks’ weapons and food. Everything would be ready for the gang war when the time came.  

When Jacob finally looked up, he saw that Henry was talking to Evie with his head leaned close to hers. Jacob stood before he even really knew what he was doing, striding over purposefully to hopefully muscle his way into the conversation. 

“This is the address,” Henry was saying, handing Evie a small piece of paper just as Jacob got into earshot. “I believe you’ll find it to your taste.”

She nodded silently, turning her face slightly so that Henry’s kiss landed on her cheek when he bent forward.

Jacob had to resist the urge to pull out his gauntlet and use it the way he’d been trained to, and it took all of his self-control to wait until the front door had closed behind Henry with a click. “What does he mean, an address that you’ll find to your taste?”

“He’s found us a flat,” Evie said with a sigh. “He wants me to look at it and get my approval so we can move in.”

“What? When- when did he start doing this?”

She folded the paper, over and over, until it was a tiny square that she put in her pocket. “Early last week.”  

“How could you not tell me?” Terror flared in his chest, just for the briefest of moments. What if she was going- what if she was _leaving_ -

“I was going to take care of it by myself. And I will.”

His heart was fluttering in his chest like a hummingbird. “You’re sure?”

“Listen, Jacob,” she said, walking to him and putting both of her hands on his shoulders, grip gentle but firm. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll talk to him about it.” Leaning forward, she gave him a long and lingering kiss, one that finally made him relax ever so slightly. “And I’ll do it today.” 

\---

The flat that Henry had chosen was a nice place in Marylebone, clean and filled with light.

He was practically glowing with happiness when he ushered Evie through the door, revealing faded and dignified wallpaper and polished wooden floors. “I think you'll be quite pleased with it,” he said, giving her arm a friendly squeeze.

“Henry,” she started, but he was already leading her in. Heart sinking, she followed, gathering up her courage. 

“It's got space for all the modern amenities, even a private water closet.”

“Henry.”

He kept walking through, enthusiastically gesturing to new rooms. “I thought you could have your own separate study here-”

“Henry, listen to me,” Evie said, letting her irritation edge into her voice.

He stopped and turned with what was clearly a determinedly pleasant smile.

“I'm not moving in here.”

The smile faltered. “I swear, darling, Jacob is going to be fine-”

“Regardless,” she said firmly. “I'm set up where I am and I don't want to move.”

“But…” He looked genuinely confused now. “Surely, in time?”

“No,” she said, feeling an incredible weight lift off of her shoulders. “No, I'm staying where I am. Alone.”

The silence stretched on and on as his face shuttered, becoming blank. “Listen,” he said finally. “I understand that this has been a hard time for you, and I'm sorry that I wasn't here for it. But you make it sound like you're treating our marriage as over.”

It was now or never. “Because it is.”

“What,” he said, more of a croak than a word, eyebrows arching towards his hairline. The blood seemed to be draining from his face. “What on earth do you mean?”

Evie lowered her eyes, trying to hide the singing triumph. “It's past time. Things haven't been… Good for a while, you know that.”

“No, I _didn't_ know that. Why didn't you tell me?”

What on earth could she have told him? That she made a mistake out of fear twenty years ago and then stuck to it because she was proud and stubborn? “There wasn't any point. There was nothing you could do. Nothing you _can_ do.”

“Evie-”

“I'm leaving now,” she said quietly, “and I hope you have a safe trip back to India.”

Turning on her heel, she squared her shoulders and walked back towards the front door. Somewhere in the elation she felt a deep and ebbing sense of regret- for the unkindness of what she was doing to a fundamentally good man, for the ache of having to go back on her word when she told herself she never would.

But Jacob had almost died. And his near-death had opened her eyes to what she had lost, to what could be. It moved the earth under her feet and changed the stars that guided her path.

She simply couldn’t continue on as she had.

When she reached the door, Henry’s voice called out to her. “I can't leave just like that, Evie. I have to- this discussion isn't over. I'll wait for you.”

She shook her head as she stepped back out to the street, shooting him a small and sad smile over her shoulder. He would understand in time.

\---

As Jacob’s supporters gathered in the streets, the air was crisp and clear, the morning bright. Evie was thankful that they had avoided rain; it complicated things, making an already messy affair even messier.

On the opposite side of the clearing, the traitor Rooks were rumbling, clearly agitated and ready to get going. The majority of them looked a bit worse for wear, which bought Evie nothing but satisfaction. Bastards. Hopefully they’d enjoyed the laxatives sprinkled on their meats, the sickness dropped in their water, the faulty guns and exploding ammunition- the myriad little tricks that Jacob had dreamed up over the last week.

Jacob was standing at the front of the crowd, flanked by his apprentices. A shout when up from the traitor Rooks as an expensive looking carriage drew up and Russell stepped out, crisp and polished looking as ever. The man was brave, Evie would give him that- or perhaps incredibly stupid. The two were often hard to tell apart. 

Russell marched over to Jacob with a clipped walk and the two of them squared off, contempt clear. Evie was amused to note that Jacob was taller than the other man, easily looking down his nose in a way that made his sneer more pronounced. He was also the far more handsome of the two, she decided. There was hardly a competition on that front.

They shook hands tensely and then separated, each crowd moving to opposite sides of the clearing. Finally stepping forward, Evie walked to Jacob’s side, casting her glance over the opposition.

A few of them blanched when they saw her. She was clearly still remembered, then, from her frantic hunt for Jack.

Their appointed mediator raised his gun on the sidelines, everyone holding their breath as he put his finger on the trigger. 

With a deafening _crack_ , the two halves surged forward.

It was as chaotic as Evie remembered. This, at least, had clearly not changed. Ducking a blow, she flipped one man over her back, giving Lottie the space to bury her blade in his throat. The traitor Rooks were a burly bunch, but they were no match for a small pack of Assassins. Jack's madness had divided them, but they were a unit again; without realizing it, Russell had bitten off _far_ more than he could chew. 

Sweeping a man's feet out from under him with her cane, Evie recentred her focus. She just had to tackle one opponent at a time. Blocking another blow, she spun her cane quickly before sending it colliding with a satisfying _crack_ into the side of a man’s head, blood flowing from the splitting skin and spattering against her coat.

On and on, she moved, working her way through the crowd, breaking arms and smashing knees. Every so often, she would resurface to ensure that all of the apprentices were on their feet, that Jacob was still a whirling figure of terror, lips drawn over his gritted teeth in a fierce snarl-

_“Emmett!”_

She heard Jacob’s roar even from a distance and immediately followed his gaze.

Emmett had somehow inadvertently managed to work his way close to Russell himself, trying to shield a younger boy who had clearly gotten mixed up in the fight by accident. Hearing his Father’s warning, Emmett was in the process of turning and reaching for his kukri, but it was already far too late.

Russell had his gun cocked and aimed for Emmett’s head, murder and glee in his eyes.

Time moved like molasses as Evie broke into a sprint, always primed to fight until the very last moment in the face of any odds. She could practically feel Jacob doing the same, ducking blows and shouldering people out of the way as he raced towards his son.

Then, all of the sudden, Russell’s body jerked and twitched. His mouth went slack, eyes going glassy as he thudded to his knees, gun clattering to the ground before his body crumpled.

His prone form revealed a throwing knife sticking solidly out of the back of his neck.

Evie didn’t slow, but she searched for the attacker, eyes roving over the crowd. She didn’t need to look far. Less than ten paces away, Jane was standing on an overturned carriage, face blazing with rage and relief, several other knives clutched tightly in her hand.

Emmett looked a bit like he was going into shock when Evie reached him, but Evie was more struck by the pure look of focus in Jane’s eyes, the talent and strength required to have a knife bury itself to the hilt through the spine from that distance.

That girl deserved extra training. And Evie already knew that she was well-placed to deliver it.

\---

Most of Jacob’s recruits were too young to even remember the early gang wars, let alone have participated in them. As Jacob surveyed the wreckage in the aftermath of their victory, he could see that some of them were rattled by the amount of death. They were used to carrying out missions, but it usually ended with one target dead, or two- not an entire clearing of dead bodies.

Even in this, though, they were well-placed to help. Jacob had seen to it that they all had basic training in patching up injuries and wounds.

He looked through the crowd until he saw the shock of red hair, easy to spot even from a distance.

“Oliver,” Jacob called out, waving at him.

Oliver ignored the sound. He was knelt over a young woman who had a bleeding arm, determinedly wrapping a bandage around the wound and pinning it in place.  

“Oliver,” Jacob said again, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder and giving the girl a smile. “She’ll be fine, you’ve done a good job. I need to speak with you.”

Reluctantly, Oliver stood and followed as Jacob walked to the edge of the crowd, ducking into the side of a dark alley.

“Listen,” Jacob started. “I know that you’re grieving and that things have been hard, and I’ve been trying to give you some space.”

Lowering his head, Oliver stared at his feet without speaking.

“But you’ve got to come back sometime. I refuse to give up on you.”

Nothing greeted Jacob but more silence. Right. The boy’s anger was understandable, and he didn’t want to rub salt in it. But things had to change at some point. They couldn’t keep doing this.

“Now isn’t the time, I know,” Jacob continued. “But soon. We have to talk. We need to…” He thought back to his nights spent reliving Jack’s torture with Evie, the way that they lifted a weight off of his chest. “I hoped that I could give you time and that would be enough. But we need to help you get back on your feet. You can’t live the rest of your life like this.”

This at least got a nod before Oliver turned and walked away.

For the time being, it would have to do.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Water closets (toilets) with a flushing system that kinda sorta worked were introduced to London in the 1880's and were CUTTING EDGE TECH.
> 
> I really wanted to write Jacob's letter to Russell as "Devil's Acre, be there or be square." You all should consider yourselves very lucky that I resisted the temptation. 
> 
> Also hahahaha SO much shit is about to hit the fan, you guys.


	12. Endings

“Boss!”

A Rook was waving him to the edge of the docks, gesturing briskly. Jacob jogged over, breaking away from discussions of reinvesting in security for the brothels with Lottie. All around him was a hive of activity, frantic movement as the new Rooks got to work rebuilding their stronghold. 

The Rook gestured downwards and Jacob saw what he was pointing out: underneath a mark on a wooden box that read “JOHNSON SHIPPING”, the paper had peeled slightly away to reveal another symbol. The Templar Cross. “Open it,” he instructed, and one of the boys ran to get a crowbar.

The crate popped open to reveal rows and rows of new guns.

Jacob whistled appreciatively, picking it up and testing the weight. “Good find,” he said, imitating firing off a few shots. “Get these packed away. No need for it to be delivered, don’t you think?”

The Rooks whooped, and for the first time since Jack’s take-over, Jacob truly felt like success was in his grasp.

\---

Anne was illuminated by the light from the window, fingers lightly fiddling with the scarf draped around her neck. Evie gently placed a teacup in front of her, settling down and getting comfortable as she watched the other woman. It was their second cup; conversation had been easy enough, and time had passed quickly.

“Thank you for visiting with me,” Anne said softly, “it was good to learn more about Jane’s background. She seems a lovely girl.”

“She is,” Evie agreed, “and she’ll do better than where she came from.”

“I have no doubt.”

Time had eased the agonizing guilt on Evie’s end, and on days where she could work past it, she found that she actually quite liked this woman. It wasn’t a stretch; she loved Jacob, and if Jacob liked Anne, it rather made sense that she could see the appeal.

Evie took a thoughtful sip. “Emmett seems dreadfully smitten.”

That prompted a smile. “I suppose every young man goes through it one time or another. I’ve invited Jane to come around once a week and join us for supper, and poor Emmett can barely get through a sentence without scrambling his thoughts. He’ll have to relax, eventually, but everyone should have a first love.” Her gaze moved to the wall behind Evie. “Just like his Father must have. I suppose you knew her?”

It took a great deal of self-control to not flinch. “I’m sorry?”

“Cecily’s mother.” Anne cocked her head. “I always assumed she was a childhood friend, from the way he spoke. And another Assassin, too.” She shook her head with a world-weary smile. “He once told me that she could best him in a fight! It was hard for me to imagine back then, but I’ve seen enough of your creed to understand now.”

“I…” Evie hesitated. How to phrase this? “I did know her, yes. I believe she loved him very much.”

“Such a loss,” Anne sighed, setting her cup down and quickly drawing out her pocket watch. “My goodness, I had no idea that it had been so long. I’m sure you have other things to do— and I must be going. Thank you for the tea, Evie, I’m relieved that we can be friends.”

“As am I,” Evie agreed, standing and collecting their dishes. “I enjoy hearing about Emmett from someone who remembers actual details.”

Anne chuckled at that. “Have a pleasant afternoon,” she said, collecting her coat. “I’ll hail a coach, don’t worry about me.” With a wave, she left the front door, leaving Evie alone with her thoughts.

She was back to copying reports and instructions for the novices when Jacob returned, grinning broadly.

“It feels good to be back in the swing,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Sort of like being young again, if you can imagine it.”

Evie smiled back at him. “Anne came by for a visit— no, no need to worry, it was nice. She wanted to talk about Jane. We had a pleasant talk. Although…” She slid her chair out and raised her eyebrows. “She did quite casually ask about Cecily’s mother, and whether she was a childhood friend who so badly broke your heart.”

In the middle of reaching for some food, he gave her a guilty look. “I… May have drunkenly blubbered on her shoulder in a very un-manly manner when I first knew her. Once or twice.”

“I just said that I knew her and that she loved you very much.”

“All true,” he agreed.

Standing, she went to him and put her hands to his cheeks, feeling the stubble under her hands. “The truth, of course, is that it’s not in the past tense.”

“Mmm.” He nuzzled his nose to hers in an affectionate gesture. “Not any more, anyway.”

With her best mock-gasp, she punched him in the shoulder. “I always loved you!”

“Prove it,” he mumbled, food set aside as his fingers worked against her collar.

Laughing, she stumbled along with him until she fell backwards onto the bed, pulling him down on top of her for a long kiss. “You’re unbelievable.”

Finally at the bottom of her buttons, he pulled the fabric of her shoulders. “This really _is_ like being young again.”

\---

Perched on a rooftop, Henry leaned over and bit off another bit of his apple with a sigh.

Lockwood was writing, again, busily scribbling away. This job would be a lot easier if he could just read those letters, but she was meticulous. Whenever she was called away, she always took the message with her, carried on her person. There was the option of knocking her out and taking them by force, but that would alert the Templars that she was being watched.

His attention was grabbed when someone burst into the room where she was writing. There was a lot of frantic hand waving; something had apparently happened, and from the movement, it looked like it had been bad.

Lockwood jumped to her feet; without a backwards glance, she raced away.

Leaving the letter on the table.

Henry could’ve crowed at his good luck. Quickly balancing up, he rappelled across the street, nimbly scurrying down the side of the building. The window was unlocked, thank God; it was easy to roll into the room.

When he reached the desk, he quickly straightened out the paper and started reading. It was mostly finished, only cut off above the ending salutations. If he could commit it to memory and leave, they could still leave Lockwood in the dark about the surveillance and keep her as a source.

 

_Daley —_

_Recent events regarding the gangs in London have caused me great concern. You must return from Paris immediately; the Order is in need of you. I am in need of you. If you hurry back, you may expect a promotion to my second in command._

_May the Father of Understanding guide you…_

Good God. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Lockwood wasn’t a messenger for the Grandmaster. Lockwood _was_ the Grandmaster.

She had attended Clara’s meetings personally, had contacts high and low. Not only did she know that Evie was back in town, she had to know about her connection to Clara— had a million ways to come within _striking_ distance of Evie.

He had to tell Evie. They had been envisioning this all wrong. This changed everything.

Hastening back to the window, Henry crawled along the side of the building until he could drop to the ground in an abandoned alley. There was no time to lose. He had to get to Evie straightaway.

\---

Jacob could see that she was still a bit cold, so they huddled under the covers as he ran his hands down along her skin, pressing kisses to her neck until he reached her shoulder and blew a raspberry. When she shrieked in protest and tried to kick him in revenge, he just pressed her further into the mattress, laughing at her outrage and reaching up to tickle her trapped form.

“You—” she stuttered, unwilling giggles leaking out, “you _bastard_ —”

“I’m quite confident about my parentage,” he retorted, relenting and pressing a kiss to her nose instead. “As you should be.”

She relaxed against him, her hands sliding down his back and tracing the myriad of scars that resided there. “Fine. Idiot, then.”

“Fair,” he conceded. To make it up to her, he lowered his mouth along the peaks of her breasts, letting his tongue flick until she was squirming, her hands winding into his hair. “I can be a generous idiot, though.”

“Please,” she whispered, a breathy sound that always made him shiver with anticipation.

“Please what?”

Snapping down to glare at him, she grabbed his hand and yanked it between her legs. He stroked the wetness that he found there gently, smiling at her calmly through lidded eyes, cock getting harder and harder as she writhed and hissed curses at him.

When her neck was arched upwards towards the wall and her hips were canting, he quickly crawled up the length of her body and took himself in hand, sliding her leg aside and gently pushing into her without preamble.

She tensed for a moment in surprise at it not being the fingers she expected, but she relaxed almost immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to the shell of his ear with a quiet moan.

Cupping her behind, he went as deeply as he could, groaning at the warmth and softness of it. Once fully seated, he stopped, pressing a kiss to her forehead. When she started to squirm, trying to encourage friction, he grinned again.

“You—” she managed, “you’re in a _terrible_ mood today—”

“I only do it because it works,” he quipped back, rewarding her with a few quick movements of his hips, enjoying her gasp before he stopped again. “Ask nicely.”

Apparently giving up on the berating, she flopped back against the pillows. After a moment of looking up at him balefully, her gaze softened and she put her hands softly to his cheeks. “Please, Jacob,” she whispered quietly. “Please.”

He would never hear enough of it. Tucking his nose against the curve of her neck, he began to move in proper, hissing in pleasure as she keened and wrapped her legs around his waist.

\---

Henry took the stairs three at a time as he raced up the building, heart in his throat. Lockwood was a meticulous woman; he knew this from his days of tracking her, following her every movement. With the Rooks back under Assassin control, her retaliation couldn’t be long in coming. Time was of the essence.

Without bothering to knock, he rushed into the apartment that Evie was sharing with Jacob, trying to catch his breath long enough to call out. In the space that it took to try and breathe in a lungful of air, though, he heard it.

A breathy cry. One that he knew all too well. Surely this wasn't possible, surely he had misheard?

There was a moment of silence, and his shoulders relaxed. He was hearing things— he was truly growing paranoid. Not an attractive trait.

He opened his mouth to ask if anyone was home when he heard it again; his blood froze in his veins, heart speeding up.

Surely not. Not Evie. Not his wife. His sensible, level-headed wife.

In a perverse way, his brain knew it made sense. Her sudden distance and reticence explained, her unwillingness to live with him no longer a mystery— but he didn't want to believe it.

He made his way through the flat to her room, the closed door looming large. Just when he thought his heart couldn't sink any lower, the begging started.

“Oh please, please don't stop, I can't, God, _please_ —”

That couldn't be his wife. Not “right, do that again” and “there, that felt good” Evie; it wasn't possible.

Hand over the handle, he still hesitated. There was something so final about this.

A male voice grunted out her name.

Anger flared, white-hot, and he threw the door open.

For a moment, he couldn't make any sense of the image. His mind refused to interpret what he was seeing. He saw the scars that spider webbed across wide shoulders, that stupid cross tattoo, the slicked back hair.

It beat like a drumbeat in his head.

Not possible. Not possible. Not possible.

But as sure as he stood in the doorway, there was his Evie, hair loose around her bare shoulders, eyes glued to him in shock, wrapped in the arms of her brother.

\---

There was a feeling that Evie had grown accustomed to over the course of her training; every time she took a jump, there was a heartbeat of worry that her fingers wouldn’t meet her next goal. That instead of landing safely, she would plummet, unable to arrest her momentum until she hit the ground.

Of course, every time, her fingers would grip brick or stone smoothly and the moment would pass. Over and over and over, until it was second nature, until she barely registered the moment of uncertainty.

She had never known what it was like to fall. And yet, in that moment, with Henry standing in the doorway with horrified shock written all over his face, she keenly felt the swooping sensation of having made a jump without safely reaching the other side.

Jacob’s head had snapped around at the sound of the opening door, his grip tightening on her arms as he realized what was happening. With a sound that was wincingly loud in the shocked silence, he pulled out of her, quickly swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Even as the whisper of fabric and clink of metal indicated that Jacob was tugging on his trousers, Evie just sat and stared, drawing the sheet up tightly around her chest. A distant part of her brain reminded her that it wasn’t strictly necessary to preserve her modesty— given that everyone in the room already knew what she looked like naked— but it was a small bulwark against the aching vulnerability of the moment.

“You,” Henry finally said quietly, barely a whisper, his eyes still glued to her.

“Henry,” she started hesitantly, as she watched his hands clench at his sides. “I’m—”

“You _whore_ ,” he hissed, cutting her off.

Jacob swivelled on his heel. “Watch it, Greenie.”

Shakily, Evie held a hand up towards her brother, trying to gesture for him to be quiet. “Henry, please be calm.”

“This is—” Henry sputtered, beginning to shake, his fists curling in tightly. “I cannot believe that this— your Father would _die_ of the shame, thank God that he’s dead already and doesn’t have to know, how could you commit this— this disgusting unnatural perversion—”

Jacob made a hissing noise. “I think you should leave now.”

Henry ignored him entirely, advancing a few steps towards the bed. Evie was determined not to shrink away, she was made of sterner stuff than that; but the sheer fury still made her feel cold. “How could you,” he said, voice cracking a little, some of the fury giving way to despair. “I _loved_ you.”

“I know,” she whispered back. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” he choked, “you’re sorry. Sorry that you fled to London and started whoring yourself out to— my God. Did you— before we left, when you…” If there was any colour left in his face, it drained away completely. “Cecily.”

The temperature in the room seemed to suddenly drop by ten degrees.

Henry’s face finally swivelled to Jacob, acknowledging him for the first time. “You… Cecily, you…”

Jacob gazed back evenly, arms crossed, expression defiant.

“You don’t deny it,” Henry said, voice faint. “You don’t… _You_ ,” he hissed, face turning back to Evie. “I thought that I was rescuing you from ruin after a drunken indiscretion, but you would have had me raise your brother’s bastard?”

Jacob was gritting his teeth so tightly that she could almost hear them grinding. “Evie, please let me hit him.”

Ignoring him and nudging forward, Evie reached for her robe, quickly tugging it on and standing to wrap it around herself. “I— please, I didn’t see any other way, and I was grateful—”

“Grateful?!” Henry’s volume was coming back, growing higher in pitch. “Grateful that you could use me, grateful that I was stupid enough to not see…” He put his hands to his face and there was a moment of silence while Evie looked to Jacob in total despair, but when Henry drew his hands away, his face was terrifyingly calm and blank. “It was a mercy that Cecily died.”

The floor dropped out from underneath her. “What?”

“You would have made something innocent live with being the product of this perverted depravity, made her bear the burden of such disgusting and immoral sin,” he spat out. “You deserve every inch of grief you felt and more, and to think I comforted you— thank God we never had our own children, you don’t deserve to be a mother. You _repulse_ me.”

Evie’s world blurred.

Everything suddenly seemed extremely far away, sounds coming to her like they were travelling through water. She barely registered the movement as the mass that was Jacob moved forward in rage, or as Henry fell, clutching at his nose as blood fell on his light clothes. She simply swayed on her feet when everything equally suddenly went silent, and there was only Jacob, Jacob gently taking her shoulders and sitting her on the bed, his touch soft on her face as he called her name.

She blinked up at him and her face was wet, a distant whine growing in her ears, everything was coming into clearer focus and things were real again but she didn’t want them to be—

He pulled her up to the head of the bed, where she curled up tightly against his chest.

“He’s gone,” he was saying, “he won’t bother us again, I’ll make sure of it. Everything will be well.”

Wanting to believe it, she simply clung to him, shivering as the light dipped in the room, sun slowly dropping below the skyline in the distance.  

 

 


	13. Revelations

When Jacob opened his eyes and reached out— almost out of habit more than anything else— Evie’s portion of the bed was cold.

Heart in his throat, he lurched out from underneath the covers. He’d spent the evening holding and soothing her, her obvious distress clearly the more important priority, even if all he _wanted_ to do was track Greenie down and beat him into a pulp. Each of her sobs felt like it was wrenching part of his heart out through his throat.

Fucking bastard. She’d eventually drifted off to sleep, snuffling against his nightshirt.

But what if the whole episode had changed her mind again? Things still often felt precarious enough. He knew that the discipline masked a strong sense of loyalty. And whether he liked it or not, she’d had affection for that- that _shit_ \- and the things he’d had said, it would be enough to make anyone flee.

The panic was almost paralyzing, reminiscent of his first few weeks after being freed from Jack. It was only the sense of urgency that stopped him from catatonically lying in bed in fear; he threw on his clothes and staggered out of the room, determined to track her down and bring her back, to convince her, that everything would be fine, that they could face this together—

Only to find Evie sitting in the kitchen. 

She smiled up at him as she poured a cup of tea, slowly raising an eyebrow. “Good morning. Are you going somewhere?”

His pulse was still racing and it took him a moment to gather himself, fists clenching his coat. “Uh… No.”

The relief must have been obvious in his face, because her smile slipped a little. “You thought I was leaving again.”

He had, but he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say. “Well I— I mean—”

“It’s all right.” She lowered her gaze to her cup. “I know it’s what I’ve done before, I understand.”

Jacob settled into the chair beside her, taking her hand. “Are you well?”

“I’ve been up and thinking. About… Well, you know.”

Yes, he knew. Of course. He gave her fingers a squeeze.

“There’s so much pain that could’ve been avoided if I had just been more honest with everyone, right from the beginning. I thought I was doing the right thing by trying to take the burden on by myself, but I should’ve given everyone involved a choice.” She sighed. “I can’t take it back now, though, can I? It’s finished. Nothing but to go forward. It’s not like I can ever apologize to him in a way that would make any difference.”

The defeated way that she said it belied her more pragmatic words, but it was a start that he could get behind. The fact that she clearly intended to stay made his heart lift, to the degree where he almost felt like a traitor for being so happy when she was clearly sad. “Yeah, well, like you say,” he answered, trying to keep his tone gruff. “What’s done is done.”

She bobbed her head in a half-hearted manner, still silently staring into her teacup. The quiet stretched on for a while and he was about to suggest a bracing walk to lift their spirits when she suddenly snapped her head up, looking him straight in the eye. “You need to go talk to Oliver.”

It was the last thing he would’ve expected to come out of her mouth, to the point where it took him a few seconds to recall what she was talking about. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’ve been trying to respect his wishes to do this alone, but he can’t. You’re the mentor; you have to go talk to him. It’s been too long. You must take the lead. He _needs_ you.”

“But why—”

“He thinks he can do it alone, Jacob. He can’t. I thought I could do it alone, and I was wrong.”

He could sort of see the parallel, now that she was pointing it out. Apparently some thought had gone into this. “I don’t think he particularly wants to talk to me.”

“But you have to try.”

“All right, soon—”

“No, Jacob. Today.”

Good God. That seemed excessive, but it was clearly a bad idea to be arguing with her right now. She already seemed fragile enough. “Are you going to be all right here? You won’t go off looking for Greenie, will you?”

“No.” Her expression darkened again. “I think that ship has sailed. And I’m meant to meet Clara later anyway.”

“All right,” he said cautiously, standing and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “If it’s that important. I’ll start us some toast, and after breakfast, I’ll go find him.”

\---

With Jacob gone, Evie poured herself a second cup.

As she sat and stared out the window, Henry’s words felt like they were still burrowing under her skin, festering and sore.

 _Thank God we never had our own children_.

In a strange way, she agreed. It would have meant an irrevocable binding to that man, something that would still be worth fighting for. As it was, it was alarmingly easy to let him slip away. Like a cut fishing line that drifted off into the ocean.

Part of her wanted to write him, to find out if he would still be staying in London. The rest of her cautioned that the best step now would be simply to wait.

There was the risk, of course, that he would repeat what he had seen. The thought made Evie’s stomach turn. But he was also an unknown quantity in London, and if his version was weighed against her own and Jacob’s, the likelihood was that it would be dismissed as the outlandish falsehood of a bitter husband. It helped that the accusation was so very serious and unnatural that people would probably be unwilling to believe it in the first place.

And in her heart of hearts, knowing what she did about Henry, Evie suspected that he would not be repeating the incident to anyone. Not only was he deeply private, he was proud, in his own way. It would be a terrible humiliation to admit to what he had seen.

There was a shuffle at the door as she finished her tea, and the mail slid onto the floor. Clara’s neat and slanted writing was visible on the postcard even from a distance.

_Urgent development. Can’t go to pub, not safe. Meet me in the ground of Lambeth Asylum, as fast as you can._

That was strange. Evie frowned at it, going through to her room to pull on some clothes. Perhaps there had been another attack on the suffragists? There hadn’t been anything in the papers, but that didn’t always mean that nothing had happened.

Coat buttoned, she tucked the postcard in her pocket and quickly set out for Lambeth. 

\---

It took Jacob a while to track down Oliver’s lodgings. Eventually, it was Lottie who was able to direct him, pointing him to a fairly rundown part of Southwark.

The building was almost crumbling, door squeaking dangerously on its hinges when Jacob pulled it open. The stairs were nearly as bad, to the point where he found himself stepping a bit gingerly as he climbed to the third floor.

On the last flight of steps, he came face to face with Oliver himself.

It was hard to say who looked more surprised. Oliver collected himself first. “’Lo, boss.”

“Oliver.” Jacob cleared his throat a bit. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

“Actually, I was just on my way to come find you. To talk.”

It was such a surprising admission that Jacob felt his eyebrows rise. Still, that had to be promising, did it not? “Where to?”

They walked back up to Oliver’s room, a sparsely decorated space with a mattress and a few chairs. Jacob took a rather unstable looking chair and Oliver sat across from him, both men fidgeting and unable to meet the other’s eyes. By God, this was awkward. 

“Right,” Jacob finally said, clearing his throat. “I want to know how you’ve been doing.”

Oliver’s voice was curiously hollow. “How do you think I’ve been doing?”

“Poorly. I imagine.”

His laugh was without humour. “I see her, every night. I see what that bastard did to her. She cries.”

Jacob closed his eyes. “I see her too.”

“Don’t pretend that you understand,” Oliver snapped, voice bitter. “Don’t even try.”

“Listen, Oliver, you need to understand that you aren’t the only one grieving.” This was probably the wrong thing to say, but Jacob was absolutely out of ideas in terms of the _right_ thing to say. “I took Connie in when she was eight. I raised her. I watched her and Lottie become best friends. I taught her everything she knew. Nearly cried from pride the first time she knocked me over in a fight.” His throat was starting to feel tight. “She was like a daughter to me. Do you think I don’t miss her?”

“Then _why_.” Oliver stood so fast that his chair knocked back against the ground with a thud. “Why did you let that _freak_ stay in the order for so long? We all _knew_ something was wrong with that bastard, that he wasn’t quite right in the head. Why didn’t you kill him right at the start?”

“Because I believe in second chances,” Jacob said quietly. “I was… I was wrong in that instance, but I wanted to try and offer Jack a safe place. He came from a background as bad, if not worse, than all of you. I wanted to—”

“ _He didn’t deserve it_ ,” Oliver hissed.

“What he did was… Horrific. I’m not denying that in any way. I can barely sleep at night for it. I failed you all and it will haunt me until I die.” It was nothing but the truth. He was quite confident that the image of Jack, broken and twisted, bragging about his unholy successes were going to be burned into his mind right until the end of his days.

Oliver was pacing back and forth now, clenching and unclenching his fists. “He was getting so close to breaking apart and everyone could fucking see it, and you just— you just let it happen—”

“It was because I really thought, until the very end, that I could save him.” Jacob suddenly felt tired. So very, very tired. “I believed in him. I believed in all of you. I believed in Connie— so when she told me that she was ready, berated me for not letting her help as her friends died, accused me of coddling her, I let her go. It was a mistake. I regret it every moment of every day. But… I believed in her, so I trusted her, trusted that she understood the risks of what he was doing." The truth of it was stinging. "I still believe in all of you."

" _Why?_ "

"Someone has to.”

There was a curious moment where Oliver stared at Jacob with wide eyes, chest heaving. Without warning, he seemed to crumple from the inside; it was like watching a man fold in on himself, the noises of his throat ragged like he was struggling to breathe. “Oh God.”

“Oliver?”

“I–” Oliver started, before his voice broke and he swallowed to start again. “I have to—…” Scrubbing at his nose with his sleeve, he took a deep and shuddering breath. “I wanted to see you because I needed to know if— if you were sorry. I needed to know because I… Oh God.”

“What's wrong?”

Another shaky breath. “There’s been a trap. She’s laid a trap. She’s got Clara in her pocket, she’s taken Clara’s family.”

Jacob’s stomach felt like it was sinking with each word that Oliver spoke, obviously a portent of ill tidings even though he still wasn’t following exactly what was happening. “What? She? Who—”

“Lockwood, she’s the Grandmaster, she’s been the Grandmaster all along— she knew that Evie would never give up information on the shroud, so she set a trap, and oh God, I was so mad that I— I _helped_ her—”

Before he knew what he was doing, Jacob was on his feet. “Where. _Where?_ ”

“It’s— I know where, I can take you—”

Jacob’s hands were shaking again; he knew that he had to think rationally, act cautiously, but all of the old threats of Jack’s were beginning to swirl around in his head. “We have to go _now_.” When he turned, Oliver was bent over the low table, ripping apart a piece of paper. “What are you doing?”

“We have to call for back up,” Oliver rasped, quickly scribbling something down. His voice was becoming stronger, apparently more determined now that he had made his decision. “I’ll send this to the rest of them.”

They raced down the stairs, Jacob in the lead, and burst out into drizzly daylight. As Jacob grabbed the first carriage he saw and climbed up on the perch— he could come back and deal with the consequences of that later— Oliver was quickly waving over one of the street urchins that were loitering in a nearby alleyway.

“I need you to take this to a Warehouse by the Thames,” Oliver said, handing the message to the young boy. “It’s across from the papermill, Devon & Westmark. The warehouse has a grey door. You know the place? Give it to a woman named Lottie. Tell her to give you two pennies for it.”

“Yessir,” the boy said, accepting the letter and running off at a sprint.

Jacob jiggled his leg against the carriage to try and burn off some of the frantic energy, panic growing again, fists clenched around the reins. “All right, now, where are we going?”

“The East Docks,” Oliver said, giving his nose one last scrub and hopping up onto the perch. “And hurry.”

\---

The yard of Lambeth felt curiously hollow to Evie, perhaps because of what had brought her here last. It was just a building, of course, the bricks and mortar couldn’t hold any evil. Even so, she couldn’t help but think of Jacob, crippled and broken, lying in the guts of this place. The agony of his treatment and the slow dripping poison that Jack had fed into his mind. The way that Jacob still shook in the night, calling out wordlessly to chase away demons that Evie couldn’t see. Perhaps he would always see them.

She shuffled awkwardly in the courtyard, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Just when she was starting to wonder if she had misunderstood the place, Clara appeared, her face haggard. There were deep shadows under her eyes and she looked like she’d been crying.

It only took a few steps for Evie to reach her. “What’s wrong?”

“Something terrible has happened,” Clara said, voice weak. “I think it’s easier to show you. Please— come with me.”

They went through an open door and down a corridor until Clara led Evie down to the cellars, steps a little uneven. By the time they reached the rooms where Jacob had been confined, all of the hairs on the back Evie’s neck were starting to stand up. “Clara? Why are we here?”

As they rounded the corner, Clara suddenly reached into her pocket; the years of training made Evie brace for her gauntlet before she even thought about what she was doing, before she even registered the gun that Clara was drawing from the folds of her dress.

“Clara,” Evie repeated, mouth dry. Surely this had to be a fever dream. “What is this?” Her own gun was drawn, but Evie had a sinking feeling that no matter what had led to this, she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to pull the trigger on a child that she had taught how to write with her own hand.  

“I’m sorry,” Clara whispered quietly, voice shaking nearly as much as the outstretched gun. “They’ve taken my nieces and nephews, they’ll kill them if I don’t do this. I’m so sorry, Evie. I’m so sorry.”

\---

Jacob was three steps past the door of the warehouse at the docks before he realized that something was wrong. With the world bathed in grey, he could see the milling Templars, but there was no gold halo in sight.

But if Evie wasn’t here…

The magnitude of the trap didn’t hit him until he tried to turn around and see if Oliver was being vigilant. Perhaps Lockwood had somehow anticipated that Oliver would turn, that he was going to betray her, that he would need to be eliminated—

He was there. But he had been joined by another figure as Jacob was preoccupied with trying to spot Evie. For a moment, Jacob could hardly believe that he hadn’t noticed this, but all of his attention— scattered as it was by panic— had been focused on looking for his love.

For yes, Oliver was there, but he was standing calmly with Lockwood. She was smiling, and her hand was firmly placed on his shoulder as Templars dragged the heavy doors shut.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so very thrilled to pass 100 kudos on this work! Thank you :)


	14. Resolutions

Time had a way of muddying things that used to be clear, taking the obvious and making it hazy. Evie’s memories of Father were no different. Normally, he was a distant mirage, the details impossible to conjure up no matter how hard she tried.

But now it was like he was speaking directly in her ear, just as he used to at target practice, steadying her nerves.

_Stay calm, Evie. Remember. The battle is lost once you lose your calm— as long as you have it, you’ll always be able to think your way out of things. It’s your biggest weapon. Not your blade, not your sword. Your brain. But you can’t use it if you’re not calm._

Calm. She could do this. Calm.

“Clara.” Evie spoke quietly, like she would to sooth a skittish horse. “Clara, you don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” Clara whispered back, voice high pitched. “They’re watching me.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Evie could see the glint of a mirror. Some sort of apparatus, then, set up so that they could- indeed- watch her. “What are you meant to do?”

“Shoot you in the heart and then drag you into that cell.” Her voice was barely a whisper, tinged with disbelief.

Mind working quickly, Evie let the world bathe in grey and checked for numbers. One man nearby, another four upstairs, no doubt ready to run off and eliminate Clara’s family if she didn’t obey. Evie took a deep breath.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Clara was muttering, almost more to herself. “But oh God, they’re so little and they’ve done no wrong—”

Evie cut her off. “Here’s what you need to do.”

Clara went silent, whites of her eyes bright and clear.

“Can you aim?”

“Well enough.”

“I need you to shoot my arm. Left arm.”

They were speaking in whispers that were barely puffs of air now. “Why?”

“Shoot me, and immediately drag me into that room. I’ll drape the arm over my chest, there will be enough blood for this low light. Then, when the man comes in to check, I need you to slam the door behind him. Can you do this?”

“But what— what then—”

“Then I overpower him, find out where the children are, and we work from there. I can fetch Jacob—” The way that Clara’s face fell was enough to tell Evie everything she needed to know. Her stomach clenched in fear, more visceral than when Clara had pulled out the gun. “They’ve taken him?”

“I—”

A gruff male voice cut through the silence. “Hurry it along!” The sound seemed to echo in the dark space, no doubt intentionally chosen to confuse where he was coming from. He’d have no way of knowing that such a thing would never stand in a Frye’s way.

But those men had all the advantages. They had to work swiftly.

“Arm,” Evie said insistently, “quickly. Do it.”

Swinging the gun, Clara aimed, braced, took a deep breath— and pulled the trigger.

\---

The last thing Jacob remembered was the stab of something sharp against the side of his neck before the world went dark.

His arms were bound now, he realized, holding him up on a chair, his ankles wound against the legs. As he lifted his head groggily, he gradually made out the form of Lockwood leaning over him, eyes tightened in scrutiny. “Hello, Frye.”

Jacob tried to say something but it came out as a groan, his throat dry. 

As his vision improved, he saw that they were in an empty office with boarded windows, dimly lit by a few lamps. Oliver was standing against the corner. It was difficult to see him fully in the shadows, but he seemed to be hunched over himself, face contorted, fists tightly clenched.

Lockwood tapped Jacob’s cheek. “Tell me where the Shroud is.”

Jacob lolled his head and spat at her.

In a snap, Lockwood’s cane flashed out and made contact with his ankle. The pain was immediate and excruciating, the old wound breaking at the weight. He tried to retaliate, break free of his bonds and protect himself, but everything felt sluggish and heavy, the ropes too tight and his strength too sapped.

Oliver’s voice rolled through the silence. “Wait, you said that you wouldn’t hurt him to do this, that the sedative would be enough—”

“Sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette, dear,” Lockwood replied, before she raised the cane again, this time bringing it down across Jacob’s face.

His vision blacked out for a second, but he could still hear Oliver’s shaky outrage. “This wasn’t the deal!”

“I don’t know what you expected. What, that he would just roll over and tell us?”

“But you said that’s why we were holding Evie! And that they could both go, afterwards!”

 _Evie?_ What? What did he mean, Jacob couldn’t follow what was happening—

“Hush, dear boy. Your mind is still corrupted by everything this man has taught you.” Lockwood’s tone became low, almost purring. “The ends justify the means, so remember what we’re here for. Now.” The voice became louder, like she was closer to Jacob again. “Tell me where the Shroud is.”

\---

The ride to the Assassin warehouse was an agony of pain every time she went over a jolt in the carriage, but Evie gritted her teeth and endured it. Clara’s hands were clenched tightly on the reins, her face still a little pale from having to fashion a makeshift tourniquet for Evie’s arm with her scarf.

They’d done well, all things considered. The Templar had predictably dropped his guard and lumbered inside the cell, only to meet the sharp end of Evie’s blade; the remaining men had been easy to dispatch with a bomb. It would take more than five Templars to take out her. Clara's nieces and nephews were being held outside of London and would be safe for now, if they could get to the leader first.

Each of her breaths was a prayer that the novices would be at the base, that they would be able to assist her, that they could work together and swarm the Templars. They would need numbers, to do this right.

The Templars hadn’t intended for Clara to know their location— she’d woken up blindfolded, before being given her instructions— but they hadn’t counted on Clara knowing every inch of the city inside and out. The smell of damp mould, a patch of sky and a steeple spotted through a rotting hole in the wood was enough for her to lead them back to where she had been held. Where Jacob was presumably being held. 

If they got there in time.

Clara leapt off the carriage when they arrived at Jacob’s makeshift headquarters, pounding the door of the warehouse until it swung inwards, revealing an alert Lottie. “What— Clara? Evie? Oh my God, Evie, your _arm_!”

“No time,” Evie rasped, pushing past her and squinting into the cavernous space of the hideout, trying to see who was around. “we have to go. We have to go, now. The Templars have Jacob.”

“What—” Lottie looked baffled. “How— we got a note from Oliver saying that Jacob wanted us to stay put here, with no exceptions.”

Evie’s stomach sank. A two-fold betrayal, then. “Oliver is in Lockwood— the Grandmaster’s— pocket.”

_“What?”_

“Get the others. We need to go to the east side of the docks; they’re going to kill Jacob.”

Lottie became a blur of movement, sprinting along the wall and grabbing weapons as she yelled for Roy and Alfred. Evie hesitated when Jane and Emmett came running too; perhaps they were too young? But they had acquitted themselves well at the gang war, and being an Assassin was always a case of trial by fire.

\---

Lockwood kept asking, but if Jack’s old efforts hadn’t broken Jacob, he was quite sure that he could withstand a bit of battering from a Templar woman and her stupid long stick.

Oliver, meanwhile, seemed to be having some sort of crisis. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, and if Jacob had been in a clearer state of mind, he knew that he might’ve been able to capitalize on it. But all he could do was grit his teeth and keep his mouth shut. The shroud had to stay below Buckingham, there was no question of that.

He barely registered the commotion when it started outside, bangs and yelling followed by a small explosion, but he did notice when Lockwood stopped hitting him.

“Shit,” she hissed. “Oliver, you said you would keep the others away from here.”

“But— I did—”

There was two seconds of Lockwood desperately trying to bar the door and cram it shut before it swung open with a bang, practically throwing her back with its force. She responded by rolling and staggering to her feet, getting behind Jacob’s chair and putting her cane along his neck, holding until it was hard to breathe.

What— what was happening—

Evie’s face swam into view in the doorway. Oh, thank goodness, his brain supplied, relieved even though he distantly was aware that he should be panicking for her safety. She would fix things. Evie always fixed things. She was good at that. His beautiful Evie.

“Oliver,” Evie said insistently, braced against the door. “This is a mistake. I know what you want, and she can’t give it to you.”

Everything was changing, everyone moving at once. Lockwood was shrieking something about everyone shutting up, but Oliver had drawn his gun and was shakily pointing it at Evie, all of his attention trained on her. “That’s not true. That’s not true, she can help me, she said—”

“Think about it.” Evie’s voice was resolute, almost desperate. “If she wanted information on the shroud at all, she would’ve taken me, I know much more than Jacob does. You know that. But she couldn’t, because I know the truth and I would’ve said so right at the start— _the shroud can’t bring Connie back_.”

Oliver’s agony was at the forefront now. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Evie insisted. “I’m the world’s foremost expert on it, of course I do. Every record of the shroud being used was on a whole body that was only recently dead, never more than a week. And even when they did come back, they weren’t the same. She wouldn’t be Connie, Oliver, believe me. She would be a half-figure trapped between worlds, never able to fully be in either.”

“But…” Oliver’s hand was shaking badly now. “If it wouldn’t work, then why did I do all of this? What was it for?”

“She tricked you,” Evie said urgently, eyes flickering back and forth between Oliver and Lockwood, as if trying to assess the situation for Jacob’s safety. The woman was still screeching, but Jacob was mostly focused on the roiling mess in his head, trying to understand how everything had gotten to here. “You don’t have to do this.”

“It’s too late, I’ve made so many mistakes, it’s too late now—”

“No.” Jacob had croaked out the word almost on instinct. His talking was apparently arresting enough that the whole room went quiet for a moment, snapping their eyes to him.

This, this he could say. He knew this deeply enough that it was in his bones, enough that no drugs could obscure it.

“It’s never too late,” he managed, even past the cane that Lockwood was pressing ever tighter against his neck. “I offered Jack a chance and he proved me wrong. Be better than him, Oliver, I’ve still got your back, I always will. It’s never too late—”

Lockwood practically shouted over him. “Oliver! Don’t listen to him, this attitude is what got Connie killed in the first place, remember that you were doing this for her! Take your revenge!”

At the mention of Connie, Oliver’s face suddenly clenched in pain like he had been physically stabbed. Swinging his arm around in a swift movement, he aimed his gun at Jacob.

The crack of the gun shot out and Jacob braced for pain, closing his eyes, praying only that Evie would make it alive—

But the pain never came.

When he blinked his eyes open and craned around, he saw that Lockwood was standing with her gaze trained on her stomach, hand unconsciously reaching up as a red bloom spread against her coat. Her throat worked as she swallowed, face open with disbelief. “Wha…” She staggered a few steps backwards, cane falling to the ground, eyes going glassy as she slumped towards the wall.      

Before he could feel any real emotion, there was another blur of movement as Evie yelled out a sound of dismay. Oliver was in the process of shutting his eyes tightly and raising the gun again, this time to the side of his own head, hand much steadier in the face of his own self-immolation than it had been all afternoon. Before he could pull the trigger, Evie collided with him and they clattered to the ground in a heap as she used her weight to pin him down, frantically shoving the gun away with her uninjured arm and getting blood everywhere in the process.

Damn it all, he had to get free of these restraints, he had to help—

Clara was the last person who he expected to see in this situation, but she darted into the room all the same, knife held firmly in her hand. She took the scene in with wide eyes before her gaze settled on Lockwood. “ _Meredith?_ What in the blazes? I went to rallies with her—”

Evie tried to explain while still half wrestling with Oliver. “She was the Templar leader, Clara. Please, free Jacob, see if he’s all right?”

Clara’s hands were on him, then, quickly undoing his bonds and helping him stand, her wide eyes peering into his face. On wobbly legs and with her help, Jacob worked towards his sister and his novice. Evie was half-sitting, clutching her arm— why was it in a sling? He would have to help her— but Oliver was sobbing freely now against the floor, his whole body shaking with each gasp. As he got closer, he could see the way that Oliver’s clothes were soaking through with Evie’s blood, clinging tightly to ribs that showed through the fabric. He had been hiding it well with baggy coats, but Oliver was gaunt, more wasted away than Jacob could ever remember seeing him.

“Oliver,” Jacob said gently, kneeling beside him, slowly so as to not make the pounding in his head any worse.

Muddled as they were by sobs, Oliver’s words were barely audible. “I’ve done nothing but make mistakes since she died, just let me go, I just want to be with her, I thought it was worth anything if I could bring her back but what would she think of me—”

It was Evie who spoke now, her voice tired but firm. “She would be proud of you. In the end, you did the right thing. She would want you to live.”

“How can you not want to kill me?”

“Oh, Oliver,” Jacob managed, more a sigh than a sound, his attempted chuckle barely a shadow. “I’m furious with you and I intend to give you a _hundred_ painful drills once you’re back on your feet. But you can’t die, not now.” If there was one thing that Jacob knew, it was fucking up and wanting desperately to be able to fix everything even as a solution felt unbearably out of reach.

Oliver’s sobs were subsiding but he was still struggling to breathe, shoulders heaving with each ragged sound. “But why?”

“I don't measure a man by how he's been for 4 months when I've known him for more than a decade. You’re one of us, and we need you. We all do.” _We love you._ The words were too awkward to say; they were men, after all, and he needed a few more pints in him before he could be that direct. But as he wearily smoothed Oliver’s over-long hair away from his brow, he was sure the boy understood. “We always will.”

\---

It was a cool morning, the spring wind even sweeping away most of the smell of London, the sun still only a glimmer on the horizon.

They were in a park on the edge of London, standing on the banks of a large pond. Evie kept her good arm firmly tucked in Jacob’s, his side reassuringly warm and grounding. Her wound was still sore, but tolerably so, the healing gradual but steady. Jacob was back to using his cane, but his constant whining had her convinced that he wasn’t that terribly poorly. No one who was truly broken had the energy to moan about it that constantly.

Slowly, the novices arrived in turn, each looking solemn. This excursion had been Jacob’s idea. She approved wholeheartedly.

Once they were all assembled, Jacob cleared his throat. “We should’ve done this ages ago,” he said evenly, lowering his gaze a little. “Without bodies to bury and as we struggled to take back London, it fell to the wayside, but that was a mistake. This should have been the most important thing. We were a family— we are a family— and we mourn their loss.” Stepping forward, he gently lit his candle and placed it in one of the paper boats that Jane had painstakingly made the day before. “For Edna.” In a gentle motion, he set the boat in the water, where the waves from the wind began to gently convey it away. Standing again, he nodded to Lottie.

Just as solemn, Lottie held out a candle so that Alfred could light it, and they stepped forward together to set it in another boat. “For Hattie.”

Roy and Walter were next, taking a few tries to get the wick to light. “For Ruth.”

Last of all, everyone turned to Oliver, still sallow and with dark circles under his eyes. With hands that trembled slightly, he lit his candle and set it in the boat that Jane held aloft, Emmett’s hand on her shoulder. “For Connie,” he said quietly, a whisper as the last boat went on the water.

As the four paper boats drifted off into the distance, candles winking in the growing daylight, the novices all crowded around Oliver, embracing him silently.

He had done wrong, yes. But who among them had not? He was broken. But so were they all.

And together, they could heal.

At a slight distance, Evie slid her hand down to twine her fingers with Jacob’s, giving them a light squeeze. Together, yes. They would heal.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short and sweet epilogue to come. :) I can't believe I've almost finished this series!


	15. Shimmers

The letter looked innocuous enough, sitting on the kitchen table. 

Tea still brewing on the stove, Evie sat and stared at the sloping letters that spelled out her name. Her maiden name. She recognized the hand, of course; she’d lived with it for nearly twenty years. Finally, overcoming her hesitation and bracing herself, she slit the envelope open.

_Evie —_

_I am in India. I have destroyed your things. Do not expect them back._

_For those who ask after you, I simply say that you were never my wife in true. The novices grieve for your absence. I do not._

_You made a fool of me in every way imaginable. I loved you truly, deeply, and I see now that this was never returned; I look over our marriage and can only see the lies laced through every interaction. There is no element of my life with you that isn't poisoned._

_You must know that your father would be disgusted beyond belief, and disappointed with you beyond measure. As am I._

_This is the last time I will reach out to you. I will burn any letters you send unopened._

_Jayadeep_

Even as she read it over a few times, the words didn’t hurt as much as she expected them to. There was the initial sting, the tightness in her chest as she took in the lines so clearly meant to inflict pain. But in the end, she had expected no different. She couldn’t have predicted the exact phrasing, but nothing about the letter was a surprise. Clearly, she had known him much better than he had known her.

With thoughtful fingers, she folded the paper. In many ways, the dismissal made her feel lighter. Like something holding her back had finally lifted, a weight of years disappearing like mist in the morning.

_Nothing is forbidden. Everything is permitted._

She thought about showing the letter to Jacob. He was still sound asleep in their bed— _their_ bed, the words still made her smile— enjoying a much-deserved lie in after his work over the last few weeks. No need to wake him for something as ultimately paltry as this.  

Standing, she walked to the stove and put the letter in the fire, watching it curl at the edges until it disappeared in a growing flash of bright flames. As irrevocably finished as that chapter of her life, her relationship with that man, the decisions that she had made so long ago. 

That was behind her, now. Jacob was the future. She had made a mistake by leaving, but she could best fix it by trying to be what he deserved from now on.

He did, after all, deserve the world.

\---

When Jacob walked into the training space in the warehouse down by the river one day, he found Emmett sitting backwards on a chair, leaning his chin against the back rest. When Jacob followed his rapt gaze, he saw that Jane and Evie were on the other side of the room working with throwing knives, pinning them against targets one after one.

Evie landed a particularly difficult shot, twisting her wrist. Emmett finally noticed Jacob standing by his side, and he let out a whistle. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”

She was. “Could trounce me backwards and forwards by the time we were eight.”

“What?” Emmett frowned up at him. “I meant Jane.”

Oh. When Jacob reoriented his attention, he could see Jane’s determination, her growing skill as she practiced over and over at this task. “Right. Yes, she’s very talented. Deserves much better than you, to be honest.”

Emmett snorted, not at all offended, and went back to staring happily at Jane. “Probably true.”  

“You’re very lucky.”

“Mhm.”

And so am I, Jacob added internally, watching for a moment longer before he turned his attention to other things.

\---

Sitting in the little office above the training space, Evie opened her diaries and notes for Oliver. When she had initially suggested this to Jacob, he had reflected that it was probably what they should've done in the first place. Unfortunately, options other than secrecy didn’t come easy for an Assassin. 

“My sources are here,” she said quietly, tracing her finger along the page. “I made an appendix to keep things straight, you’ll find that in the back. It’s all the information I’ve gathered over twenty years about the Shroud. And Oliver…” She gave him a long look. “I’m trusting you to not misuse this.” 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Over the weeks, Oliver had gradually regained a lot of the weight that he had lost, the colour coming back to his cheeks. Alfred had insisted on dragging Oliver from his drab room and into the bosom of his family, where his girls and wife had delighted over someone new to fuss over and dote on. The difference had done the young man worlds of good.

Still, Oliver tiptoed around everyone else. He was clearly finding it hard to move on from the fact that he had made such a terrible mistake; it was as though he expected everyone to change their mind about his right to be there without warning.

Now, though, he reached out a tentative hand and took the notes from her hand. “I actually think…” He swallowed slowly before he held the notes back out towards her. “I think I don’t need to see them.”

It wasn’t what she had expected. “Are you sure?”

“It sucked me in and gave me nothing but grief.” He rubbed his palms together. “I can… I should do other things. I’ve been talking to Clara, she has some jobs for me. Children’s rights malarkey, but I think I can help.”

Folding her papers shut, Evie gave him the warmest smile she could manage. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” No doubt keeping busy would help— perhaps he would even relax into the company of the other novitiates. He probably would. One day.

Oliver nodded heavily. “Have you ever lost someone?”

In her mind’s eye, Evie saw tiny nails on tiny fingers, delicate tufts of dark hair that sloped down towards closed eyes with long eyelashes. “Yes.”

“Does it get easier?”

“Yes.” For better or for worse, time dimmed the sting of those memories. “Yes, it does.”

\---

He found her perched on her favourite spot on the roof, overlooking the city and the chaos below. The tiles crunched under Jacob's feet as he walked over them heavily— never a good idea to surprise Evie. “There you are, you miscreant." 

“Hey,” she responded, shooting him a quick smile over her shoulder. “Do you need something?”

Jacob shook his head. “Just looking for you.”

“Mm. Well, here I am.”

He settled down beside her, awkwardly leaning on his cane. Lockwood’s blow had set his recovery back some ways, which was irritating, but there was no sense in dwelling on it. He was here for more important things than moaning about his ankle.

After a few minutes of silence, he fumbled for the box in his pocket, trying not to show his nerves on his face. He passed it to her casually, like this wasn’t the product of weeks of worrying and wondering, like it wasn’t a stressful thing even if it was purely symbolic.

“What…” She frowned at him as she opened the box, and her mouth dropped open when she saw the ring. It was a slim and simple silver band, inconspicuous and unostentatious. “Jacob?”

“You stopped wearing the one from… The other one,” he said quietly, not wanting to even say that bastard’s name. “So I got you this one.”

She was still staring at the box silently, her dark eyes wide.

Gently, he reached over and took the ring from the cushion, rolling it between his fingers. “I know that we’ll never be able to have a ceremony,” he said quietly. “And if you think it would just make people think of that man…”

“No, no.” She reached out and took it from him quickly, like she was almost afraid that he would snatch it away. “I don’t need a legal vow, Jacob. This means just as much.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

Her obvious joy made his chest swell.

It would always be complicated, yes. It would always be secret. It was a hard-won happiness, and there would no doubt be further difficulties. But as she slipped the ring onto her finger and flexed her hands a few times, as if testing its weight, he found himself certain that they could face whatever was ahead. She sighed happily and he vaguely wondered if now was the time for a romantic declaration, something flowery and poetic. Thankfully, she turned and smiled at him, and he realized with a deep sense of relief that it wasn't necessary. They'd never needed words. 

He tucked her close under his arm, and they leaned against each other, watching the sun set over London.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. 
> 
> I can't quite believe that this series is over, but here we are. A lot of love went into this, and I have been overwhelmed and moved in turns by the reception of In Trutina and all its associated works. This whole series has been such an escape for me, in a time when I really needed one. It made me happy to write, and it made me happy when it was read. 
> 
> Someone recently compared writing fic to performing on a stage. There's a certain pleasure to doing it on your own, but a lot of the experience is seeing the impact of the people watching. So, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has reached out to let me know that they were a part of my audience. Here and [**on tumblr**](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poethrotsvitha). 
> 
> Coming next: A Dark!Twins Templar Au... ✧( ु•⌄• )


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